The World is Snowblind
by TheDarkWorldGiant
Summary: When Matthew's home, family, and way of life suddenly changes, he is thrown into a world of defiance, secrets, love, hurt, war and brotherhood.
1. Chapter 1

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

The World Is Snow-blind

October 28, 1763~

I felt sick. My cheeks were red from where my hand had rubbed them. My eyes were wet from the endless tears I wept. My body shook as the cold absentness of company washed over me. I sat in the empty foyer, scared and confused. I was acting like the end of the world had come. In a way, it was the end of my world, the one I knew, the one I grew up in. That world was tearing apart and I could do nothing but cry for it to be fixed.

This all started about a month ago. After the end of the entitled French and Indian War, my papa got to come back home. He had arrived just like he did whenever he was in war, bloody, beaten, weak, normal aftermaths of fights, but when I ran to meet him at the gates of our home, all he did was hang his head and cry. I had asked him what was wrong and he told me, "J'ai juste une petite enterprise de prendre soin de."

I didn't understand what he meant at the time. Two weeks after, a man came to our home in the middle of the night and spoke with Papa in the library down in the main room. The sudden knock at the door had woken me up and I had climbed out of bed to go see what was going on. When I got down stairs, I slipped behind the workers' passageway at the back of the library and watched the remainder of their conversation silently.

"Do you understand, Francis, what we're doing?"

"…Oui…"

"Do you agree with the terms we have come to?"

"…Oui…"

"Good. Very good."

They spoke in a language I had little time to concentrate on. English. Papa had his head down and was sitting in a padded chair next to the fire that lit the room. His face was pale and sweaty. I saw his hands tremble as he gripped the arms of his chair. One of our maids was tending to a glass of wine next to him, her hands shaking just as much as Papa's as she poured the red liquid into the clear cup.

The man Papa was speaking with was turned sideways from me, his face sparked by the light from the fire. He looked tired, dark rings lingering under his green eyes, his shoulders slumped.

There was a slight moment when neither of them spoke and the maid placed the bottle down and backed out of the room. It was just them then, alone in shaded room, the feeling of anxiousness filling the air. Finally, the man spoke, though I could not understand his language. His voice was low and calm. "As you know, Francis, I am very—very tired. I would suspect you are too. And since you seem to be taking this very well in spite of everything, I think I will take my leave now."

He stood up with a slight groan and brushed off his coat. He walked over to where Papa sat and reached over him to the hooks that hung from the wall, plucking a black hat from its holder. He placed it lightly on his head and sighed. "We will have the formal signing next during November," he had stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. He dropped his hand to his side and stared down at Papa. "You know he has already forgiven you, Francis—"

"I know," Papa interrupted the other with a shaky voice. "But please tell him that I did not mean to hurt him, in ze slightest." Papa spoke into his lap, filling the other man's sentence, his hands clasped in front of him.

The other man stared down at him for a bit longer then patted him lightly on the shoulder. "Alfred does not need to be told… Good-bye, Francis," he whispered. He looked up and reached for the rim of his hat. His fingers curved around the sturdy material and tipped it down just above his eyes. "Matthew."

The rest I can remember from that night was that I had ran out from the workers door and sobbed into Papa's knee, begging him to cease his own cries. He just stared at me and whispered:

"Mathieu? Pourquoi avez-vous fait?"

I blinked as I was taken away from the memory, sniffling up the last of my hushed cries. I looked around the room and frowned. The accueil that stood stiffly by the front doors had told me to wait in here over an hour ago. He had shoved me in the room along with my neatly packed bags and dismissed any questions of, "Où est Papa?" and "Ce qui se passé?" Though, I did know what was happening. I was being taken away.

The night I had seen Papa talk with that man, was the night I found out I was to be taken away, back to where I originated from, Canada, to start a new life under the care of that man he spoke with.

I did not notice until a few days ago that I had seen _that_ man before, many times actually. See, when I was younger, Papa would show me a very detailed painting of a man dressed in a dark red coat with high boots and draping belts that held a sharp tipped sword close to his legs. In the drawing, it was clear that, in person, the man would be quite thin and pale. He was also not that tall, reaching maybe to Papa's eyes, even with the boots, but he stood stiffly with his shoulders back, making him look bigger than he was. His features were sharp and pointed. His eyes were a dark green with a swirl of yellow that glared off to the side. They were almost hidden by his large black-stained hat and hair, a dirty yellow tangle of locks that draped across his face. Another characteristic of the man's was his particularly large eyebrows that furrowed his forehead. Papa went on to tell me that he had known the man for quite a long time, that he was a fierce competitor. I remember worrying that day, because even though he was smiling, Papa's voice cracked as he said the man's name: "Arthur Kirkland."

Though I had only seen him, heard him, I did not like Arthur Kirkland. He seemed false in a way. When he acted so calmly towards Papa that night I could still see the glitter of spite and hate in his eyes. He was playing a role he seemed to have mastered long ago. Though I did not fall for it; his trick of personalities. Arthur Kirkland was an evil man. A heartless, evil man.

"Sir jeune. Vous sont nécessaires dans la salle principale."

I looked up from the floor and over to the doorway. The accueil stood ridged with the same sour look on his face. His gloved hands were tight next to his thighs and his lips were pursed. "Vous sont nécessaires. Il est temps d'aller."

I held in another wave of tears, letting the emotions prick at the inside of my throat. I stood and grabbed my bags from the side of my chair. I struggled to lift them so decided to drag them over to the door. I gave a quick glance over my shoulder as I heard the side door opened and a worker walked in.

"Ici, Mathieu. Permettez-moi de vous aider avec qui." The worker placed his hands on mine and slipped his fingers under the bags straps. He pulled them over his shoulders with ease and walked with me to the main room, the accueil giving a distasteful sniff as we walked by.

When we entered the main room the muted chatter you could hear from the hall ceased. A group of men I have never seen looked towards me with wide eyes and opened mouths, their thin mustaches curved to match their wide lips. The worker said something to me I did not listen to and kissed my head. He placed my bags down and turned back to the hallway.

I never like attention. The sight of the young children that played in the square down by the town, bragging about their stories or falling and crying out only to get a quick look made me confused. Who would want all eyes peering at them? To me, it made a person feel small; like their whole image was being judged in other people's minds. With these men I knew I was being judged. I could tell they were describing me to their thoughts. A fragile little boy with a broken home.

"Ah, mon chéri Mathieu," Papa's voice came from the side of me.

I did not look away from the ground as Papa made his way over to me, still feeling the other men's eyes on me. I felt Papa's warm hands rest on my shoulder and he nudged me forward to the crowd of men.

"Good evening, monsieurs. Thiz iz Matthew," he turned to me and returned to hushed French. "Mathieu, dire bonjour."

I just nodded at the men and ducked my head. I felt the urge to cry bubble up inside me. The men still watched me.

Papa squeezed my shoulders and walked out in front of me. "Iz Arthur here yet or will I take him?" he spoke to one of the men in English.

"Not needed, sir. Mr. Kirkland is coming in momentarily," the man gestured towards the door and turned back to the crowd.

Papa stood still for a moment then turned back to me. He looked down at me, his gaze unmoving. He spoke something over his shoulder at the men, still watching me, and the crowd slowly walked out the main door, leaving me and Papa alone.

I stared up at him. "Papa?"

I jumped as Papa's arms flew around me and his body came to the floor. He dug his head into the crook of my neck and the fabric of my clothing became wet. The tears blocked burst out of me in a loud gasp. I gripped the back of his coat and cried into his hair, letting my heaving chest bounce back and forth against his shoulder.

"Oh Mathieu. Je suis désolé. Donc, désolé. Je vous ai manqué, mon amour," Papa breathed close to my neck and shook in my hold. "Donc désolé."

"Non, Papa, non. Vous n'avez fait. Papa, je t'aime," I cried harder and sniffed softly.

Papa shook his head and kept it down on my shoulder. I rubbed his back and kissed the side of his face. We stayed like that, hugging each other, till a dried cough hummed through the air. "Ahem…"

I looked up towards the door I had not known to be open. And there he was. Arthur Kirkland. He leaned against the doorway, his fingers picking at his gloves, his eyes down studying them. His yellow bangs hung lifeless over his thin face. He looked up slightly, locking his eyes on mine, draining me of all feeling. "Hello Matthew. Francis."

Papa turned abruptly, pushing me back a little, and stiffened as Arthur walked in. From the side I could tell Papa was trying to put on a smile. "Arthur? When did you get here? We have been waiting."

"Yes, well, here I am," Arthur gestured around the room. "Is he ready?" he looked at me and nodded. I shrunk away.

Papa looked to me then back, his bottom lip quivering. "Um…yes. Yes he iz." He stood and straightened his over shirt with a cough, his hands not leaving my shoulders. "May I ask where—where he will be staying?"

Arthur blinked at whatever Papa had said. "Well, he'll be going to England, first thing, then probably to the Americas. Any time, he'll end up back in Canada."

The swirling blonde curls from Papa's head bounced as he nodded. "That iz…reasonable," he paused to smile weakly, "though very far from Europe don't you think?"

"As if I'm going to hand you visiting hours, Francis," Arthur sneered in response.

Papa's brow furrowed as he stared at Arthur's unmoving face. He coughed into his hand—the air in the room growing devilishly cold—then continued speaking. "Give me a moment to say good-bye, Arthur, then Matthew will be ready—"

Again, Arthur's cynical tongue flashed out over Papa's words. "I have already given you that moment. You have spent that time and now it is time to go." He stopped and flicked his hand out behind him. One of the young men that was from Arthur's group responded to the signal, coming in past the doorway and walking up to my bags, grabbing them an setting on back outside. Arthur watched the man go then let his eyes travel back to mine. Holding out his hand he said, "Come, Matthew, it's time to leave."

I looked at him strangely and scooted closer to Papa's leg.

Arthur breathed in and out loudly before looking at Papa with two darkened green eyes. "Bring him, if you will." He pointed at me then turned and walked down the front stairs behind him.

I felt Papa's leg shake and backed up when he turned around. I looked up at him and felt my stomach churn again. "Mathieu," he said, "marche avec moi."

I knew what he meant when he said this. I knew that he would never actually say "Good-bye" to me, because he didn't mean it. And I wouldn't say it back, for I didn't mean it either. He let his hand fall into mine and grabbed it tightly. He took one step then waited for me to follow. For a second I couldn't, but with a slight tug from Papa's strong arm I began to match his footsteps till we reached the doorway. I tripped along the steps outside the door and my feet scraped the rocks of the front drive, but Papa held me up. I was guided through the crowd of men from earlier and halted in front of a large gray hansom. Arthur was standing there, his back turned. The man he was talking to nodded towards us and Arthur glanced back over his shoulder. He pushed aside the man and roughly opened the small door. "Matthew."

I looked behind me at Papa, a low, "Mais pourquoi?" falling from my lips before Arthur nudged me forward. I climbed the stiff wood steps up into the body of the carriage and sat down weakly.

Papa took a step closer to the carriage door and smiled through a new wave of pain that covered his eyes. His throat squeezed his words and his voice failed on him as he spoke. "Soyez courageux pour moi, Mathieu," he said. "Rappelez-vous toujours l'amour que j'ai pour vous. Toujours. Je t'aime ange."

The hurt coming up in the back of my eyes sunk to my mouth. "Je t'aime," I said, involuntarily loud.

Papa smiled and opened his mouth to say more when Arthur's body slid in between the carriage and pushed Papa back, shutting the door behind him.

It was like sitting back in the foyer again. Alone, scared. No not scared, that was to lose a word, I was terrified. Mortified even. I looked down at my hands and felt the carriage shake as someone placed, most likely, my bags on the hook on top of the roof. That is when I remembered I forgot Kumajiro; my little white stuff bear that Papa had given me the first week I had gone to live with him. The night before, I had dropped him behind my bed. I went to Papa the next morning and asked him to get him back for me. He had told me he would do it later and forgot. And with everything that was happening, I had forgotten too.

I began to cry again. I let all the sticking pain in the back of my throat come out. My eyes watery, my hands trembling, I pulled my legs up to my chest. I hated everything. The men from the front room, the worker who had helped me take my bags, the Alfred boy Papa had talked about the night all this started, Arthur and his terrible heart. But most of all, I hated myself. I had lost everything. My home, Kumajiro, Papa, everything that was my life or reminded me of it and all I did was walk away. I felt like screaming, but, again, I've never liked attention, and surely I'd get some if I did. I curled into a ball, my head resting on my knees, and sobbed into the fabric of my pants. I heard the door open and Arthur slide in into the seat across from me. I didn't look towards him; I kept crying.

"Please stop crying," Arthur said something to me in the language him and Papa used. I ignored him and carried on with my fit. "Stop crying…" again he tried to speak to me in that ugly voice. "_Arrête de pleurer!_"

That I understood. I sat still and held my breath, waiting for him to hit me or something someone as evil as him would do. But nothing happened.

I heard him sigh and speak back in English. "Can you only speak French?" I did not answer him. "Pouvez-vous ne parler que fançais?"

I looked over at him then turned back to my seat.

"Hah—I'll take that as a yes then," Arthur flicked at his coat and pursed his lips. "Je suis désolé, ça va. Mais vous avez besoin d'arrêter de pleuer."

I nodded and pulled in on myself tighter. Whenever I cried in front of Papa, he would sing to me or hug me or even do the same, but he would never just sit back and looked away like Arthur was doing. Never leave me to take care of it for myself. The carriage lurched and started to roll down the drive, Arthur did not speak to me through the whole ride—I doubt he even looked at me. And that is when I knew that this man would never, truly, be anything close to a father to me.

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><p>Author's note: Hello everyone! first chapter done! Here are the translations-<p>

**"J'ai juste une petite enterprise de prendre soin de." "I just have some businesses to take care of."**

**"Mathieu? Pourquoi avez-vous fait?" "Mathieu? Why did you do that? "**

** "Où est Papa?" and "Ce qui se passé?" "Where is Daddy?" And "What happened?"**

**"Sir jeune. Vous sont nécessaires dans la salle principale." "Young sir. You are needed in the main room. "**

** "Vous sont nécessaires. Il est temps d'aller." "You are needed. It's time to go. "**

** "Ici, Mathieu. Permettez-moi de vous aider avec qui." "Here, Mathieu. Let me help you with that. "**

**"Ah, mon chéri Mathieu," "Ah, dear Matthew,"**

** "Mathieu, dire bonjour." "Mathieu, say hello."**

** "Oh Mathieu. Je suis désolé. Donc, désolé. Je vous ai manqué, mon amour." "Donc désolé." "Oh Mathieu. I'm sorry. So sorry. I've missed you, my love." "So sorry."**

** "Non, Papa, non. Vous n'avez fait. Papa, je t'aime," "No, Daddy, no. All you did. Dad, I love you, "**

** "Mathieu." "Marche avec moi." "Matthew." "Walk with me."**

** "Mais pourquoi?" "But why?"**

** "Soyez courageux pour moi, Mathieu," "Be brave for me, Matthew,"**

** "Rappelez-vous toujours l'amour que j'ai pour vous. Toujours. Je t'aime ange." "Always remember the love I have for you. Always. I love you angel. "**

**"Je t'aime." "I love you."**

** "Arrête de pleurer!" "Stop crying!"**

** "Pouvez-vous ne parler que fançais?" "Can you only speak French?"**

** "Je suis désolé, ça va. Mais vous avez besoin d'arrêter de pleuer." "I'm sorry, okay. But you need to stop crying."**

****Thank you all for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT **_belong to me, all rights reserved.

* * *

><p><strong>December 24, 1763~<strong>

"Are you ready?"

"Oui."

"No, no, Matthew. _Yes_. Remember. English."

"Oh…yes, then."

I stood awkwardly by the ships edge, fingering the hems of my brown coat, as Arthur shouted orders to the other men on board. I was still not use to the smells and sounds of the busy ship, even after a six-week ride on it.

Two months have passed since I was taken away from Papa. Since I started my life under British rule. It was terrible at first. I was forced to take on books of writers such as Charles Wesley and Henry Fielding to teach me the significance of English literature. I was given work sheets and tutors to educate me in English. I was handed new of everything; clothing, bed, food. Oh, the food, I might say, was particularly dreadful. Nothing like the kind Papa and our chefs would make. Though my distain towards the whole idea of a new life is still often shown, I've managed to slip into a routine of studying and practicing the golden rule of silence, which, apparently, is quite favored by people.

"Out 'a me way, boy. Ye stand aside or ye stand under deck." A rough shove jostled me around. I warily looked over my shoulder at the hunched man who blustered by.

I sighed and glanced over at Arthur. He had made his way over to the bow of the ship. He stood tall and sturdy, like he did always when on his ship, his breath coming out in warm puffs of air. His eyes were sharper than usual. They flickered back and forth among the crew of men, frequently looking back out at the nearing town we sailed towards. He looked so anxious when he stared at the approaching land, like he would gladly jump in the water and start swimming if the ship didn't go any faster. No wonder. Only a few more yards separated him from the one thing he had been talking non-stop about since our departure; America.

"We're going to Boston." That was the only warning I was given before Arthur hurriedly packed up and threw me on the boat. I had never been to Boston—which I found to be part of America—let alone anywhere outside of Europe.

The ship lurched. A very loud and slightly slurred "Port ahead, Cap' an! Port ahead!" rang out among the other hurried sound.

"Right! Anchors down, men!" Arthur's voice echoed close to me and the bump of a hand on my shoulder followed. I looked up. Two wide green eyes flashed down at me then out to the town we were only feet away from. "Ready, Matthew?" I nodded and kept watching him. His chest slightly rose, held, then let out in a small breath. It looked as if he had been holding it all this time.

The next movements that came from the ship, the crew, the waves, were like a planned dance. Everything was joined in the end as the ropes in the men's hands flew to the tops of the docks. The back and forth rocking of the ship turned into a soft swaying as men from the town came out and tied the ropes to the dock's posts.

One of the men caught my eye and smiled, his pink cheeks stretching. I was slightly taken aback by such a simple action due to my lack of it from the people Arthur spent time with. Actually, all the men from the town appeared to be smiling. Bright, energized, their tanned faces dirtied but happy. So this is what America was like.

"Alright, Matthew, step lightly." Arthur's grip on my shoulder tightened and I was turned around. I was pushed on with Arthur's feet on my heels to a large wooden board slanted down from the side of the boat down to the dock's ledge. I cautiously stepped down it, not wanting to slip on the gathering snow, only for Arthur to pick me up from under my arms and set me down at the bottom. "Look after him." Arthur pointed at me and my bags then gestured for a man to come over. He did and fingered his ripped hat towards me.

"Hey there kid. My name's Davidson. Welcome to Boston," he smiled and patted my head tenderly, his strange accent clicking in my ears. I backed away out of habit and Davidson just laughed. "A little nervous, huh?" he asked, waving off a comment shouted from a man behind him. "I would be to. Ya know. Comin' here with Mister Kirkland. He's a piece of work, eh?" I looked up at him and then over, just missing Arthur's red coat as it disappeared in a crowd of men. "Ya did come with Mister Kirkland, right?" I nodded. Davidson laughed and sniffed. "That's 'em house over there. See?"

I blinked and looked over to where Davidson pointed to. In the back of all the crooked buildings close to the docks sat a large squared two-storied home, alone and cleared from the dirt of the town. It was white with a snow-covered black roof and a lawn that traveled down the hill it sat on. It was lovely. Most different from Arthur's bricked tower back in England.

"Well. You want me to bring your bags up there with ya?" Davidson asked.

I blinked and looked away from the building. "Um…" I stopped and tried to remember my English lessons. "Don't you—you think Arthur would like to take me?"

Davidson's eyes went back and forth before answering. "Nah. Ya fine. He's probably over out there at the stores."

I had no idea what he was talking about and I guess it registered on my face.

"Oh. The stores down by the break in the boardwalk—over there see—is where Alfred's always waits for Mister Kirkland when he gets back from his ship. He tends to stay there for a while so he wouldn't mind if I took ya up there." Davidson smiled with all-teeth and picked up my bags. "So ya want to go?"

"Oh." The name Alfred stuck in my head. Arthur never talked about the boy—and I was glad for it, because even if I'd never met him, I still hated him; deep inside I still hated everything that reminded me of that day—but all the help from Arthur's home and other acquaintances often spoke of him. A "Wonderful boy". A "Charming young man". Those are the comments that normally cycled through most conversations about him. Though in my mine, wonderful and charming never came up as a description. "A-Alright."

A hand was placed on the bend of my back as Davidson started to walk me though the crowd. We swerved and jump out of other people's way and finally broke out of the crowded area. We turned the corner of a very drab looking building and cut up to a jagged pair of wooden steps. Davidson moved slowly behind me, easing me up the crooked boards.

Once at the top, we met with a cleared stone road that lead out to a line of other buildings. Posts with horses tied to them stood on the right-hand side of the small street. Small groups of people stood huddled in front of the buildings. They all glanced up as Davidson walked us past them. I tried to shrink away behind Davidson's legs but he held me with a firm hand.

"Mornin' to ya all." Davidson smiled at the men and they lowered their heads with a nod and went back to talking with each other. I felt Davidson's hand slide into mine—immediately warming it from the cold—and I looked up at him. "No one will bother you if you're with me. I know everyone here."

I nodded and let Davidson lead me farther along the road. More people popped up as we walked on. Whenever anyone looked our way Davidson would squeeze my hand gently and any anxiousness I had lessened. We walked till we came to the end of the road, the brick in the ground turning into hard dirt. Davidson gestured me to the left and up small set of stairs that stopped at the bottom of the hill the house sat on. The pathway wound to the right and cut up in a slant that reached the house's front steps.

Davidson gave a slight sigh, his brown eyes closing, and pulled my bags up. I gave him a looked that asked if he needed me to take some of the bags, but he smiled and shook his head. "I got it. Better for me to sweat than you."

I let go of the other's hand and watched him start his trudge up the pathway, keeping behind a good distance as his long legs carried him quickly upwards. A few steps more and I was panting and running to keep up with the pace that was set.

Davidson reached the front steps before me and set my bags down with a cough. He turned back to me and smiled sympathetically as I heaved up the rest of the way, the snow offering little help to my climb. Davidson held out his hand for me to grab when I was almost to the top. I did and he pulled my feet through the snow and placed me in front of him.

"It's a steep climb, ain't it?" Davidson smiled down at me and patted my shoulder. He brushed at my hair and let me walk up the stairs in front of him. I waited for him to gather up my bags again and follow me. He did and stepped up the stair quickly, opening the door by reaching over my shoulder and pushing on its large smooth center.

The door swung open and a waft of comforting heat skimmed over my cheeks. I looked inside at the long wooden hallway that lead down to the back of the house.

A finger bumped my back. "Come on. Step in, Matthew," Davidson said, stepping closer to me causing my legs to walk me forward into the house.

It was large inside as it was out. High roofs with wood panels netted the ceiling in patterns. Paintings of the sea and of other houses hung along the walls. Small candleholders sat on the sides of a large front table that leaned on the right side of the front opening. A staircase sat next to the hallway, a closet set in to its side, while two entry ways came off its left and right sides.

"And here we are," Davidson said from behind me followed by the creaking sound of the front door closing. I stood still as he walked past me and sat my bags down next to the front table. He took off his hat and coat and draped them over the tall wooden coat hanger in the corner. He held out his hand to me, "Let me take your coat, Matthew. Gonna get hot in here once I light the fire."

I nodded and slid my arms out of my coat's sleeves. I handed it over to Davidson and returned the smile he gave. "Thank you."

He laughed. "Of course. Now how 'bout we get you settled then get some food in ya," he said. "Must be hungry after all you've went through today."

I smiled a little brighter, the thought of food filling my stomach making my body sigh. "Yes. That would be nice—"

"Hurry up Arthur! I made something really cool while you were gone. It took me a whole week to build it, but I waited till you came so we could paint it together!"

A much louder voice drowned out my own. Davidson and I turned in unison towards the front door as footsteps came from behind it. The door opened and a gust of wind carried in a small boy who joyously flew into the room. "Come on Arthur! Stop being so slow!" The boy called over his shoulder then looked out in front of him, locking his eyes on mine. "Hmm…?"

I felt my throat close up as the boy kept staring at me. He had shiny blonde hair and bangs that flipped to the right with a single strand that stood straight up. His tanned face was young and fresh, but held quite a resemblance to mine. A white short-sleeved shirt and large coat hung around his skinny shoulders, a pair of brown pants over his legs. His eyes though, were what stood out the most. Two large ice blue orbs that stared unblinkingly back at me.

"Dear Lord, boy. Maybe _you_ should slow down." The boy finally looked away as Arthur's tired voice traveled from outside. Arthur's body came into view as he stepped through the door. His face looked tired but his eyes looked brighter then I've seen them before. He walked past the boy, patting him on the head almost fondly—though I was probably wrong, since Arthur could never feel fondly to anything—and joined us in what turned into an introduction, commenced by Davidson.

"Hello Mister Kirkland. Got 'im here safe as you can see," Davidson pointed to me. Arthur looked me up and down with an approving gleam in his eyes.

"Yes I see. Hello Matthew, how was your trip up here?" he asked, actual interest in his voice.

I opened my mouth to speak but found my words dissolving as the boy kept looking at me. "I-It was nice."

Arthur raised his eyebrows, slightly disappointed in my description. "Wonderful. Well I see you've met Alfred then."

I froze. "Alfred…?" I looked back over to the boy and blinked in confusion. He was Alfred? I had been expecting a harsh looking boy with the attitude of his horrible caretaker, but he didn't match any of those descriptions.

The blue-eyed boy smiled largely at the sound of his name, two rows of glistening teeth flashing at me. "Yup, that's me! And you must be Mattie! Arthur wrote that he was bringing you with him," he paused to take a few steps closer to me, "but he sent that letter back in November so I had to wait for like ever to see you! And now you're here so, come on lets go play!"

And just like that, 'Alfred' grabbed my hand and pulled me through the left doorway, laughing like we'd been friends forever.

I could vaguely hear Arthur sigh and Davidson laugh as Alfred and I rounded the corner into what must have been the library of the house. A wall with a window sat in between two filled with books, all three surrounding a writing table and two chairs. Its wooden floors were scattered with what looked to be small toy soldiers.

Alfred came to a stop, me almost colliding with the slightly shorter boy's back, and pulled me to the ground. He picked up two of the toy men and handed me one. "Arthur made these for me while the war was going on, after I had my injury," he smiled.

The war, I presumed, was the one that ripped me away from Papa, the injury, I had no idea. "I see…" I looked down at the toy in my hands. It looked like it took a lot of time to make it, precious time that I couldn't image Arthur wasting to make _ten_ of these wooden figures.

Alfred smiled down at the toy he was holding then glanced at me. "Well anyway, I just wanted to tell you how happy I am to have a brother in the house to play with. I live here most of the time by myself since Arthur has to go to Europe like every other day or something," he paused and looked me straight in the eyes. "Sorry our first time meeting was a little rushed, but I pulled you I here so I could just relax without Arthur breathing down my back."

I blinked, surprised at what I was hearing, and watched Alfred flash another smile. "Let me start over. My name is Alfred F. Jones, and I'm really happy to meet you Mattie and I'm really happy that you came right before Christmas." He nodded and stood up on his knees, proceeding to lean over and give me a tight hug.

I gasped sharply as his arms squeezed mine before letting my hands come up to his shoulders. We sat there for a while, hugging each other. I felt my eyes begin to sting as the feeling of someone else's warmth engulfed me. I had not felt such comfort since the day I left Papa, his large hands now replaced with Alfred's smaller ones. I held back a cry and patted Alfred on the back lightly.

Finally, the other let go, his arms untangling them from my shoulders. He pulled back and smiled at me brightly, a smile that seemed to be with him all the time. "You can call me Al since I'm calling you Mattie, if you want."

The image of the boy named Alfred vanished in my mind to be replaced by a smiling, happy, energetic young boy who I would gladly be willing to call my brother. I could feel the hatred that had grown in me slowly start to dissolve as I cleared my throat and nodded my head, a small smile on my lips. "Of course Al, of course."


	3. Chapter 3

Hetalia: Axis Power does not belong to me. All rights reserved.

April 5, 1764~

Thomas Brixton is, to say, a very boisterous man. He's said that he was born in Florida and moved to Boston when he was six. Here, he found that there were too many people who didn't know as many things as he did, so he decided to pursue a life of teaching, beginning his career with his very first class of nine at the age of fifteen. He is small, short for his lifetime of thirty-four years, but the lack of self-restraint he has for his own mouth makes him seem less so. His brain, filled with snippets of different information, seems to fire off at all times, convenient or not. Arthur met Mr. Brixton through Davidson—the wonderful man I met about a year ago who I later found out was the sitter/cook who works for Alfred at the house—who'd known him since childhood. After hearing about his very effective teaching methods, Arthur hired him to tutor Alfred and me.

"Wonderful to meet you all. Now, Mister Kirkland—I make sure that my students and I form very close connections with each other. _Just_ me and my students. So you can go about whatever business you need to attend to. I don't need another set of eyes to help me teach." That was how our introduction went. The face Arthur gave when Mr. Brixton told him to, basically, get out was the most hilarious thing I had ever seen. Alfred thought so as well for he ended up rolling on the floor. Ever since then, Mr. Brixton has been one of my closest friends, along with Alfred and Davidson, and a deep irritation to Arthur.

"No, Alfred, that's not how you write a cursive capitol Z. You must close the tail. _Close_ the tail," Mr. Brixton moved his finger through the air in a reverse six, his echoing voice causing Alfred to roll his eyes.

"It looks just like the one you drew on the board, Thomas," Alfred whined, tossing his quill away with a huff.

I looked up from my own papers and smiled slightly as Alfred began pointing accusingly to the board in the middle of the room. Since the month of April is companioned with the first break of spring air, Arthur had permitted Mr. Brixton to take us out on the patio for our lessons this week. Alfred had been thrilled about our new "classroom" —being able to escape our normal study in the living room and all—but soon fell into a slight tantrum as Mr. Brixton told us our lessons for that week. Cursive.

"Look! It's just like yours, Thomas!" Alfred yelled and slapped his paper up on the board. The lovely Z Mr. Brixton had written sat diligently next to Alfred's lopsided squiggle.

Mr. Brixton shook his head. "No, Alfred. The tail, boy, the tail. It needs to be closed or it looks like a three."

Alfred sighed and glanced over at me as Mr. Brixton kept talking. He began mimicking him, his hands on his hips and his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I laughed and looked down at my paper. My Z looked more like the one on the board then Alfred's, which made me smile. Normally Alfred's the one whole does everything right.

"Here, Alfred. Watch me draw this once again. You too Matthew," Mr. Brixton said, picking up a quill and placing it on the paperboard.

I stood up, placing my papers down in my seat, and walked over next to Alfred. We both watched as our teacher wrote down another perfect Z. As I watched, Alfred bumped my elbow with his. "_The tail, boy, the_ _tail_," he whispered in my ear, his impersonation making me laugh quietly.

Alfred kept at his routine while Mr. Brixton started to write out the entire alphabet, never noticing the poking fun being made of him. "_You must hold the pencil like so, dear boy. Do not be like the other fools in town_." Alfred began say other things irrelevant to anything that was going on. "_You must be smart like me or you will fail in this world."_

My eyes began to fog up as the desire to laugh started scratching at my throat. Small snorts sounded out of my nose and my shoulders shook up and down. I wasn't laughing at Mr. Brixton of course─I mean, I love the man─but at the sheer stupidity at Alfred's shenanigans.

Again, Alfred turned to mimicking Mr. Brixton's movements, flailing his arms out in the same fashion as the other man. I laughed quietly, indulging myself in Alfred's act, before a tap of a shoe from behind made me freeze. I looked over my shoulder slightly.

Arthur stood stiffly by the patio's door, his hand smoothing out his tight green vest. He had his head cocked with one eyebrow up, his eyes filled with distaste and amusement as he watch Alfred carry on with his teasing

I turned back around and nudged Al's side with my hand. "Al…"

He stopped moving, his large smile brightening his face and turned around. His face immediately redden. "Arthur!"

Mr. Brixton stopped writing at the sound of Alfred's voice and looked over as Arthur strolled outside. "Ah, Mister Kirkland. Here to try and ruin my class again?"

Arthur stopped walking as Alfred laughed at the comment, his large eyebrows falling over his eyes. "As you were, Brixton. I'm just here to speak with Alfred for a bit." He stopped and looked over to said boy, nodding his head. "If you may Alfred."

Alfred blinked then nodded and ran up to Arthur's side, letting the older place his hand on the top of his head and ruffle his blonde hair lightly. I watched them walk back to the patio door and disappear inside the house.

I sat facing the door for a moment before turning back to Mr. Brixton who was standing looking down at me.

"Just us two then?" he asked. I nodded, happy to answer any questions of his. "Well, I suppose we could end the lessons there—" he paused as he saw my eyes grow in agreement, "but tomorrow, rain or shine, we will continue with your papers, do you understand, my dear Matthew?"

I smiled genuinely. "Of course Mr. Brixton."

The teacher rolled the papers he held into a tight cylinder and tapped me on my head lightly. "See. You're respectable. Alfred insists on calling me Thomas while you behave and address me properly. Very good." I let my smile hold as I collected my own papers and asked if I could help clear up the board.

"I'll help 'im Matthew. No need for ya to." A gruff but calming voice came from the other side of the patio. I didn't need to look to know it was Davidson, the sound of chewing tobacco hitting the flooring assuring me it was him. I turned and watched the tall dark skinned man make his way over to Mr. Brixton and thump the shorter on the head. "How are ya Brixton, ya bastard?"

Mr. Brixton swatted at Davidson's hand. "Oh, stop being vulgar, David. In front of Matthew at least."

"Gonna learn sooner or later, ain't he?" Davidson glanced over to me and winked. I smiled as the two childhood friends began talking amongst themselves, small pieces of the news from town escaping Davidson's lips and catching my ears. "They're angry, Tom. Should have seen 'em yellin' and spittin' at the king's boys down by the boardwalk—hell, one of Adam McCallan's ships caught fire 'cause someone tried to use some of his whale oil as a bomb."

"Well what did you expect? You and I knew very well that no one was going to take kindly to this. I'm not even trying to hide my dislike for it. Taxes on paper. What crock."

"You tell me. I bought one of the papers in town and the regular that was standin' by stamped it with a seal when I walked by. Made me pay an extra four pence before he would let me pass."

"Tch, typical. The king's going to have a war waiting right outside his door if he keeps this up any longer."

Davidson scoffed. "Ain't that the truth." Their conversation died, leaving only the sounds of paper shuffling and quills clacking as the make shift classroom was slowly torn down. Davidson left with the teaching board, stopping quickly to pat me on the head and slip a piece of tobacco in my hand. He tipped his hat and raised a finger to his lips. "Don't go tellin' Mister Kirkland now."

I quirked an eyebrow and let the sticky slab fall off my fingertips and onto the floor.

Mr. Brixton finished closing the caps of all the inkbottles and proceeded to beckon me over to him with a twitch of his finger. "Matthew, could you give this letter chart to your brother when he returns. I need him to study it if I even what a chance at seeing my next payment from Mister Kirkland…" he paused, allowing me to laugh at the sheer truthfulness of what he just said—true that if Alfred doesn't learn, Arthur makes sure Mr. Brixton doesn't get paid, from himself or anyone else again. "I would myself, but apparently there is a little…problem down by the docks, which in turn means there is also a little problem near my house," he smiled and tapped the thick paper on my wrist before giving it to me.

"I'll make sure he gets it, Mr. Brixton." I smiled and watched him walk out through the lawn and down the hill.

I looked down at the papers, the lines of letters scribbled in Mr. Brixton elaborate handwriting. Sighing through my nose, I went back to the pair of seats that stayed back under the covered section of the patio and sat down. I didn't try to "sit appropriately" like I do whenever Arthur's around instead stretching out my legs and flopping my head to my shoulder. For a second, with sun hitting my face, the slight breeze coming through the patio, I imagined I was back in France, with Papa…

The door behind me creaked to the side. Arthur's voice came with a small stomp of feet. "Now go and I don't want to hear any more about the issue. Do you hear me?"

I quickly sat up straight and craned my head back over my shoulder. Alfred was standing with his back towards me, Arthur standing above him in the doorway. Arthur turned to walk away but Alfred's call stop him.

"But I still don't understand, Arthur—"

"_Do you hear me!_"

Alfred's shoulders jumped as Arthur's gaze rushed back around and landed on his. He lowered his head and pulled his hands closer to his chest. "Okay…"

Arthur's lips parted as if he was going to say something more but instead sighed. He raked a hand through his hair and stood there for a moment before moving back into the house.

I let my back slouch when he was gone and slid my legs over the side of the seat. I peered over the back of the chair and watched Alfred let his arms fall to his sides. We stayed like that for a while, the thought that Al didn't even know I was there or was just refusing to turn around gnawing at the back of my brain.

I stood up slowly and walked over, landing my feet down a little harder to see if that would finally make Alfred looked around. It didn't. "Al―"

Alfred quickly turned and grabbed one of my wrists making me drop the sheets on the ground. I looked at him and saw something I've never seen with Al; anger.

"Mattie, can you come talk with me for a sec?" he asked, his voice cracked and high.

I opened my mouth, actually to say "no", but with Alfred, you never get say anything, let alone no.

He pulled me through the door he just came out of, joggling me behind him. He looked down the hallway Arthur had gone down when he left with narrowed eyes then walked down the opposite one. We trudged past the living room and turned to the back hallway that lead to the laundry room.

Al pushed open the door and pulled us in. The heat of steaming water and the smell of fresh washed clothing closed around my throat, making me cough into my sleeve. We passed baskets of sheets and tubs of different soaps and brushes before we came to the room's closet.

Alfred finally let go of my wrist and opened the door. The inside was dark but I could see shelves full of fabrics. The bottom shelf looked like someone had taken it down and covered it with towels. "You go in first, Mattie."

I looked over at Alfred. He stared back at me, his blue eyes bright but irritated. I nodded and dropped to my hands and knees so I could crawl under the shelves. I got myself seated in the corner—my head just missing the bottom of the shelf above me—and watched Alfred copy my same movements. He took the other side of the floor and shut the door. Everything went black except for the lines of light that came through the bottom slit of the door.

"Can you keep a secret?"

I blinked and looked over at Alfred, his thin face shadowed. "What?"

"Can you keep a secret," he repeated.

I hesitated before pulling on my collar and swallowing. "Yes—"

"I hate Arthur."

A moment of shock and confusion crossed me. "Huh?"

Alfred stayed quiet for a while, dropping his head and moving his hair down over his eyes. "I said I hate Arthur. He's a mean person who does mean things to good people for no reason."

I stared at him, the words just then sinking into my mind. I, and everyone else who knew me, and knew of what I've been through with Arthur, could understand my hatred for the man but Alfred? Alfred and Arthur were close, extremely close. "Why would you say that, Al?"

Even in the dark I could see Alfred's eyes flash. "Because, he doesn't tell me anything, _ever_. He always sails off to talk with Parliament and his stupid king and never lets me know what they're doing," he shouted. "He has let my people work for themselves for years and not once has he stepped in. And we were fine with that. Really. But ever since that war, all he and the rest of his _people_," he stressed, "have done nothing but crawl about all the damn day and get in the way of the colonies lives."

I didn't know whether to be surprised at the swear or at the fact that Alfred had finally started modeling his role as a nation. I do have to admit that I haven't been that thrilled of my special occupation as a personification of a colony, normally I just don't even think about it. Think that I will never die unless Canada "dies". That I will never be able to live a normal life. "Your people, Al?"

Alfred clenched his fists and frowned deeply. "Yes, Mattie, my people. The people who are out there right now angry at how their week has taken such a turn, angry at how terrible Arthur's good-for-nothing soldiers treat them, angry that people they've never even seen before, who also happen to be more than _three-thousand miles_ away, have started bossing them around!"

Alfred's voice bounced off the walls of the small room, all words coming back to echo in his own ears. He sat there frozen almost letting what he had said sink in. He glanced between me and his feet dozens of times before his back bent and his head went limp.

I can't say that my brother was one for crying. Any time you'd think he would, he'd just stand up straight and close his eyes, breathing _in, out, in, out_… I always admired that of him; he never let the world get to him. But this time, hidden away from the world that has so many times given him such hell, he allowed himself the tears.

"Oh, Al." That's all I said before scooting closer to him and placing my hand on his knee. Even though the issue, which upset him so much, didn't reach me in the same way, I couldn't take seeing my brother cry. He laid his head on my shoulder and complied with letting my arms go around his. We stayed like that for the rest of the day. Only until Davidson found us did I let go of Al and only then did he stop crying.

* * *

><p>Author's note: Hello everyone! I am very sorry to have been gone so long. My computer was stolen and i had to wait a bit to get a new one. But here you have it, chapter 3! Thank you all who have read my work. I am truly honored.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me, all rights reserved.

**June 13, 1766~**

My eyes opened, the haziness of a sleepless night still blurred my sight. I wiped my face with a limp hand and rolled over to the other side of my bed. I have never been the type to let the morning get away from me, but when I looked at the clock it read a quarter till twelve. The reason for this was because of _one_ thing, Alfred.

The night before, Alfred had suddenly started to complain that his legs, arms, stomach, neck, basically every part of his body, hurt. Miss Mary, the small but firm housekeeper, had immediately flown into action, making a near boiling pot of tea for Al to drink, rushing him off to his room, and putting him to bed. All this had taken her till the dreadful hour of 12 o'clock due to Alfred's stubbornness to except the idea that he might be sick. She only managed to get him to sleep at such a time because she had reminded him of the fact that Arthur was going to be returning from England the next day and that he wouldn't be able to enjoy his homecoming if he was ill.

About two years ago, Arthur's bosses—or to be frank, Parliament—wrote him, saying that there were more important things to attend to back in Europe than in America. Arthur, of course, packed his bags the next day. Alfred hadn't been quite as sad as I would have imagined though I wouldn't blame him.

A week or so from the day Arthur received his letter, Al had confessed to me that he and Arthur had hit somewhat of a dark patch in their relationship. For the days that lead to Arthur's departure, Alfred didn't even really speak with the man. He would give a grunt of a response to some questions but normally let Arthur's voice hang in the air without answer; Davidson even had to drag him down from his room so he could express a proper good-bye to the other.

Though bitterness held Al for a while longer, three months seemed to suck all of it out of him, leaving him sad at the memory of his and Arthur's farewell. So, he wrote Arthur a letter, saying how much he was sorry about his attitude and the lack of friendliness at their least meeting. A month of two later, a responding letter came, written in Arthur's neat letters that filled four pages of "I forgive you"s, "I miss you"s, and "I love you"s.

His letter then lead us to Alfred's cry of alleged aching joints, a week later.

I staggered out of bed and dressed myself as quickly as I could. I didn't want Miss Mary's rule of, "You must be present if you want to eat what is served," to apply to me for lunch is served _exactly_ at twelve. I just open my door, still slipping on my house shoes, when the sound of rapid chattering and loud laughs filtered through the hallway.

I knew Arthur wasn't due back till later today so the noise must not be of his arrival…unless I slept longer than I thought…

"Oh, Mister Matthew! You're awake, finally. Now, come, come, you have to get down to the living room. Something just absolutely remarkable happened last night!"

Miss Jamie is Miss Mary's daughter. She was born into her job as Alfred's housekeeper, following her mother, and has lived in the house for sixteen years, though she strongly says she has only been on this earth for fifteen. She bears quite a resemblance to her mother but received her father's bad habit of sticking her nose into other people's business—which Miss Mary has repeatedly said, is the reason why Miss Jamie's father is now dead.

"What happened?" I asked, though not yet fully interested as the urge to run back to my bed started to creep up on me.

Miss Jamie's eyes grew along with her smile. "Oh, I can't even say! It is just amazing! Now come, stop talking my ear off."

She promptly grabbed my shoulders and began to push me forward. I craned my neck back and looked up at Miss Jamie's excited face. "You were the one talking."

"Oh, shush," she said, adding a gentle tap to the side of my head.

I smiled and let her keep leading me down the hall. She turned as we reached the staircase and tramped us down the steps in fast little taps of her shoes. Her tight hands released my shoulders when we came to the living room's doorway, the distinct voices of Davidson and Mr. Brixton loud in my ears.

"I still can't believe how ya look. Took me half my life for 'em growth spurts to start gettin' to me."

"And you're not even the tallest anymore, David."

"Hell of a lot taller than ya, Brixton."

Miss Jamie had me behind her slightly, her bouncing dress getting into my view of the room. I waited, knowing that it would be rude to push past, but she just stood there, a shining smile on her face, staring intently into the living room, altogether forgetting I was behind her. The courage to announce my presence with cough or ask politely for her to move had just gotten to me when Miss Mary's bustling body came up beside me.

"Oh, Jamie. Move your flat bum and let poor Matthew through."

The tips of Miss Jamie's ears flared red as she scooted to the side and turned around. "Oh, mother! Don't talk about my bum! Especially in front of the men!" she whimpered, hands flying to her backside to hide what her mother seemed so adamant on pointing out to the world.

Miss Mary dismissed her daughter with a slight hand movement and grabbed my hand. With one yank, she pulled me all the way into the living room.

The interest that I did not possess at the beginning had grown to a jittering anxious mass of wonder in the pit of my stomach, but when I observed the room, I didn't see anything amazing or close to remarkable.

The room looked the same as it had all other days and everyone inside looked just as ordinary. Davidson wore his brown weathered hat and working shirt, the boots that scuffed the floor most days strapped to his feet. His mouth moved up and down as his teeth grinded into the tobacco slice tucked in his cheek. Mr. Brixton stood with his arm crossed; the normal judgmental purse of his lips covered his face. His neat and smoothed shirt was pressed into his shoulder as the weight of his precious travel bag hug off him. Miss Jamie was still to the side examining her behind with great anguish while her mother's hand kept clamped to mine. Everything was exactly the same, except for the man standing in the middle of the room.

He was tall, very tall, with a set of broad shoulders and a sturdy jaw. He looked gawky and picked at his hands as if he didn't know where to put them. I'd never seen him before—though he seemed quite famous among Davidson and Mr. Brixton—but when he turned around I knew I'd been wrong.

Alfred had always possessed a simple beauty in the way of looks. He had always been the gorgeous child. Even though I look very similar to him, Alfred had this brightness about him. His eyes captured a depth that no one else seemed to have. The man in the living room had those eyes. Alfred's eyes.

"Al..."

The man locked his eyes on mine, staring past Davidson's shoulder. His thin lips stretched into an enormous smile of white teeth.

"Mattie!" An unexpectedly hoarse voice boomed through the room. Alfred launched himself into a two-step charge that carried him right into my chest. A strong pair of hands grabbed on to my arms, slipping me out of Miss Mary's hand, and I could feel my feet lift off the ground. A massive wave of air was pushed out of me in a heave as my chest and his were slammed together. The thought of an attack slowly dissolved into a hug.

I dangled there before the arms around me lowered. My feet sat on the ground and my body rocked back and forth as the man pushed off of me. I looked up into the still large grin on his face. "Alfred? Is…what happened?"

"I don't know! Last night I woke up with this awful pain and all of a sudden," he stopped and gestured up and down his tall body, "I looked like this! Crazy isn't it?"

I nodded stiffly and let Miss Mary nudge by me. "Oh, you're just the most hansom young man I have ever seen!" she cooed grabbing Alfred by the cheek and pinching it bright pink. "Lord have mercy on you when the women get to seeing what you've become, I swear."

At that moment, Miss Jamie took her turn at the conversation. "Oh, I already told the news to Bernadette and Mrs. Thom's daughters down in town. I invited them over for a little sit down with you, Mister Alfred, since they seemed so excited to meet you," she said, not even noticing the slightly disturbed glance Al and all the others in the room gave her.

Mr. Brixton coughed. "Well I do love this talk we all are having but what I would really love, is some lunch. Anyone else?"

Everyone in the room nodded and Alfred's face seem to break out in a delightful shine. "Food sounds great! I've been starving since this morning," he said, "and I bet Mattie's hungry as well."

Al's eyes caught mine, a spark of youth and energy filling them, and the uncomfortable feeling I had felt for him vanished. He was still the same Alfred, even if a man had replaced the small child he was only yesterday. "Yeah, I famished."

Alfred smiled at me. Miss Mary lead the others into the dining room, all now chattering of what to eat, while I waited back with my brother, who leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

—

After lunch was served, the time seemed to blur by. While Miss Mary and Alfred were clearing the table, Miss Mary commented that he needing to find new clothes, since he couldn't borrow Davidson's forever and she would be the one to take him. This caused Miss Jamie to nearly upturn the table. She quickly began to beg her mother if she could be the one to take him shopping, as clothing and spending money on clothing happened to be one of her favorite things to do. Davidson and Mr. Brixton immediately ran off to some place, not wanting to get in the middle the two women's bickering, leaving Alfred to fend them off himself. He finally agreed to let both of them take him only if I join them. I, of course, said yes, and we set out for town.

Along our adventure to find the utmost grand attire for Al to wear, Miss Jamie paraded around, trying to catch the eye of, really, any man there was—Miss Mary met a handbag that she just "Absolutely could not live without!"—and Alfred found himself in a most awkward position when he was cornered by a gaggle of women who kept asking if he was new to town.

Meanwhile, as I figured since everyone else seemed to be preoccupied or trapped, it was up to me to get what we initially came here to get. In the end, I managed to buy a whole wardrobe for half the price by talking to an old Frenchman for half an hour who, genuinely, missed the conversations he and his son used to have with back in France. Somehow our little party of four got back home safely and Alfred just had enough time to put on one of his new suits right before Arthur arrived at port.

I have to say, and most likely speaking for everyone else, that their reunion was nothing of what people expected. Arthur had made it to the house slightly later than planned but no one minded―other than Miss Mary who seemed to have some sort of schedule made. He said his hellos and gave me a small pat on the shoulder then looked for Alfred. To the humor of the rest of the room, Arthur actually pasted Alfred entirely while looking for the short little boy he had last seen, not knowing that that boy had been replaced by a man taller than himself. Alfred finally relived the other of his search and coughed comically. Arthur turned and his slight smile fell. His face took on an unreadable expression and he became deathly silent. Alfred managed a whispered, "Hi…" before following in Arthur's silence. The room seemed to go thick with anxiety. No one moved in fear of setting off something terrible.

"Oh, doesn't our Mister Alfred look dashing, Mister Kirkland?" Miss Mary's attempted to break the stillness but was only met by a blank stare from Arthur and a surprising, "I'm going to bed."

I watched, along with the others, as Arthur brushed by Alfred and walked up the stairs. Miss Mary held her hands up to hide her gaping mouth while Miss Jamie started to cry into her skirt. Davidson and Mr. Brixton looked down at their shoes and Alfred stood motionless. I walked to him and grabbed his hand but all he did was look to his chest.

After a while, everyone receded to their rooms. I managed to lead Alfred back to his though silence still gripped him.

The next morning, everyone was down for breakfast. Arthur again took his spot at the front of the large table while Alfred and I sat to the left of him. Alfred was still silent and the air in the room was still as cold as it was the other night. But while Arthur was sipping at his tea he looked over at Alfred and coughed. "You look very charming today, Alfred."

Alfred glanced over the top of my head. He looked at Arthur, who had returned to his tea, before smiling. "Thank you, Arthur."

I let go of the breath I was holding as the two went back into their own breakfasts. I looked back to my plate and sat quietly, the invisible pressure in the air lightening to nothing and everything seemed to feel normal again.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

**February 21, 1767~**

Ever since Alfred went through his changes, as Miss Jamie calls them, he's never really been around the house that much. Because of his stronger body, Alfred―instead of watching the workmen down at the docks―would help them and any other person who needed a heavy load lifted. He had such strength now. And normally when I woke, Alfred would already be gone leaving me to work through my morning alone. No one else seemed bothered by this but I on the other hand, without Alfred about to accompany me, I had no friend to speak with. There was of course Davidson and Mr. Brixton and the two women and Arthur but they wouldn't have the time or the desire to just sit in the library all day talking aimlessly or run around playing pretend like Alfred used to do.

Once I tried to work with Davidson to make the lunch but my lack of knowledge in the kitchen just slowed him down. I tried with Miss Mary and Miss Jamie, but I could only stand so much talk of how handsome all the men in town were. I tried with Mr. Brixton but it just felt as if I were in class and I didn't even approach Arthur in fear of one of his dark glares or harsh rejections. I did, though, tried with Alfred, sorry to say, many times and all with failure. He was just too busy and energetic for me to keep up with him, so I stopped bothering with it.

After a few days of playing alone, I got use to it. It was still lonely at times, but I just ignored it and kept to myself.

Today the house was absolutely silent and I had just sat down in the library to read a book that I had never had time to read when Miss Mary came into the room, duster and towel in hand. She stopped when she saw me staring at her.

"Oh, well Mister Matthew. What are you doing in here all by yourself?"

I closed my book and stood up from my seat. "Nothing," I paused to wipe down my pants. "I'll leave so you can clean."

Miss Mary put her hands on her hips and gave me a scowl. "Oh, nothing you say? Well you have been doing "nothing" all this week. Just sitting in this house all quiet. Oh, I know, how about you go outside and get some fresh air in you, hmm?"

I frowned. The only reason I have been inside all week is because I've lost my best friend to adulthood while I'm still only a child. "Yes, I think I'll do that."

Miss Mary smiled broadly. "Oh, good. I think your brother would like some company out back anyway if I say so myself."

I blinked dumbly. "Alfred's here?" Miss Mary nodded. "I thought he was down at the docks."

"Oh, no. He and his young friend Mister Samuel are working on Mister Davidson's wagon," she said. "The man broke it when he loaded too many sacks on there even after I told him not too! I, personally, don't think Mister Alfred should fix it. Mister Davidson needs to fix it. _He_ broke the stupid thing."

I could feel myself getting anxious to see Alfred again. Since I got used to going about by myself I didn't really check up on what was happening outside the house or what was happening with Alfred. I excused myself from the room and slipped out the door, saving myself from a sure to be never ending complaint. I walked down the hallway out into the living room. I grabbed my jacket from the coatrack and pulled it on. As I approached the front door I couldn't help but to feel that I should announce my leave to Arthur―just in case he looked for me while I was gone. I rolled my head over my shoulder and called softly up the stairs where Arthur's work room was.

"Arthur, I'm going outside now…"

No answer came, but I didn't expect one. Arthur never hears me. With a sigh I opened the door and walked out into the front porch. Cold air brushed my face and my hand shivered as I pulled the outside doorknob shut. A rhythmic thumping was coming from the bottom of the pathway that lead from the house. _Thump, thonk, thump, thonk._ Again and again the sound hit my ears, leaving me to walk in unison with it as I made my way down the path.

Almost to the bottom, I could clearly see Alfred. As expected, an old looking wagon with only three wheels sat on its side, Alfred was knelt on one knee next to it hammering at the discarded wheel. His hair was slicked back with sweat and his rolled up coat sleeves tightened around his large arms as they bent. He looked so strong, so big at that moment. And as told but forgotten, an older boy I'd never seen before stood nearby.

I felt my face heat up. Shyness has always been a problem with me. Even when I was back in France, I was quiet around people. It's like my voice stops working and I just pull into myself, waiting desperately for that moment to pass and for the large lump in my throat to die back down. But, to my dismay and constant bad luck, the older boy who I had hoped not to talk with was the first to see me.

"Hey there kid," he said with a wave and I immediately started to wonder if it was too late to run back to the house before Alfred saw me. But of course, it was.

Alfred turned and smiled brightly. "Hey Mattie!"

I smiled warily and watched Alfred jump up and walk over to me. He provided me with a big hug and then ruffled my hair, sliding his hand in mine. "Well this is a surprise. I haven't seen you all week. What, did Miss Mary kick you out?"

That's exactly what happened, but all I did was mumble a response. Alfred turn around and started to explain what he was doing with Davidson's wagon although I already knew. As he spoke, I could feel the older boy staring at me. My head fell and I tried to hide behind Alfred's legs. I suppose Al saw my failing attempt at avoiding the other boy for all he did was laugh, pull me out in front of him and started to introduce us.

"Mattie, this is my friend Samuel Maverick. Sam, this is my brother Matthew," he said.

I looked at the older boy, Samuel, and blinked. He was maybe fourteen and a head shorted then Al with a freckled face and a shiny wave of brown hair. He stepped closer to us and held out his hand. "So you're Matthew? Al's told me a lot about you, he has."

His hand hovered in the air for a bit before Alfred let go of mine and waited for me to grab it. I did and shook Samuel's hand lightly before returning to Alfred's palm.

Alfred laughed and wiped at his forehead. "Well, Mattie, what have you been up to?"

I swallowed my dry throat and rubbed my arm. "I-I've been reading _Candide_."

Alfred's eyes grew. "Woo, boy! I can't even say that damn title and you're reading the book!" Alfred said.

I laughed but stopped when Samuel joined in. "Ah Al, I've told you to study up. Soon you'll be as smart as this here wagon if you don't."

"Shut the hell up, Sam," Alfred joked.

The two of them shared a laugh, oblivious to my discomfort, and continued with a very profane conversation. Samuel wiped the tip of his nose after they finished and finally looked at me. "So, Al, do you think Matthew would like to help us with this?" he said, gesturing to the wagon.

Alfred blinked, remembering that my hand was still in his. "Oh! Well…" he paused and looked down at me, "nah. I think we've worked enough on this. We can finish it tomorrow. Instead, how about we all go down to the docks, hmm? Goof around?"

The idea sounded great, but I wouldn't enjoy myself while Alfred's friend was there so I coughed and spoke. "Umm, I actually think I should get back to the house…"

Alfred's eyes softened and his hand squeezed mine in understanding. "Well, alright. I guess we can go some other time then," he said. "I had to go to the town for some other work, anyway."

His hand slipped out of mine, leaving it empty and sweaty from the shared heat of our palms. He squatted down to my height and smiled. "How about I take you and these tools up to the house before I go?"

I looked down at the hammer and box of nails near Al's feet then back up to his face. "Okay."

Before Alfred could say any more Samuel cut in. "Well Al, how 'bout I take him," he said, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at me. "Get him off your hands," he winked and reached out to pat my head. I stiffened but didn't pull away.

Alfred looked at me then down at the faraway view of the town. "Hmm, what do you say, Mattie? You want Sam to walk you?"

I didn't, but my mouth always seems to say the wrong words in situations like this. "Okay."

Alfred nodded and stood back up. He eyed Thomas with a fake glare and shook his finger at him. "You take good care of this boy, you hear?"

Thomas pretend to take off a hat and place it over his chest, bowing. "Of course, sir. Whatever you say."

Alfred laughed and kissed the top of my head before walking down the rest of the pathway to town. "Bye Mattie. I'll see you later." He waved then vanished.

I stood silently next to Samuel as he called a good-bye. I watched him turn back to me and pick up the hammer and box of nails, heaving at their weight. "Lord above, going to have some bruises after carrying these," he laughed.

I gave him a blank stare and looked away.

Samuel's chest fell along with his smile and moved all the tools he held to one hand. "Want me to hold your hand?"

I looked at his outstretched hand and shook my head. I knew I was giving Samuel a hard time, but the resentment and shyness of people followed me heavily ever since that day four years ago. I was still trying to get over it.

"Well…let's get moving then," Samuel coughed, moving the tool back into the positions they were in.

We made our way up the pathway in silence. The cool air fluttered out my hair as I walked quickly up hill. I didn't wait for Samuel until I was at the front porch, where I turned around and watch him struggle up the last strides. It reminded me of how I was when I first came to the house with Davidson. I stuck out my hand. Samuel looked up and grabbed it. "Thank you, Matthew."

We slipped inside and I removed my coat, happy for the warmth of the house. Samuel breathed out and sat down the tools on a nearby table. "Hah―well that's over, hmm?" he said. He looked over at me and smiled. "Now, could you show me to the storage room, Matthew. Like to get rid of these things." He gestured to the tools.

After our little trudge uphill I felt a small bit better around Samuel, enough to speak without choking on embarrassment. "Oh yes. It's right over here."

Right then, Miss Jamie's loud voice echoed from the kitchen. "Mister Matthew is that you?"

Samuel and I turn to watch Miss Jamie storm into the room, blonde hair bouncing furiously. "Oh, Mister Matthew where have you been? Mister Kirkland asked me to get you ten minutes ago and I couldn't find you!"

She stare at me intensely waiting for me to answer. "I've been outside, Miss Jamie."

Miss Jamie let out a huff and shook her head. "Oh, I have been looking all over this good forsaken house for you and you have been outside? In the cold? With your friends―" Miss Jamie looked over at Samuel angrily but froze, mouth agape. "Oh…"

I watched in confusion as Samuel's cheeks went bright and he nodded his head. "H-Hello ma'am."

Miss Jamie's cheeks went just as shiny and she smoothed out her dress and quickly fluffed out her hair. "Oh, hello. And you are?" she said almost breathlessly.

Samuel cleared his throat. "S-Samuel Maverick, ma'am. I'm just here to…ah…I'm just here to…um…" Samuel started to fidget and his face became immensely red. "I was just…"

"I was just showing him to the storage room so he could take back those tools, Miss Jamie," I said finally.

"Oh! Is that so?" Miss Jamie said. She twirled at the ribbon around the end of her sleeve before saying, "W-Well I could take him, if…he'd like, that is."

I looked to Samuel for his response. "Ah, yes. I mean, I would like that…that is," he stammered. He reached for the tools but instead managed to knock them onto the floor, the hammer slamming to the ground while the box of nails sprayed out along the floor. "Ah!"

"Oh!" Miss Jamie squeaked and fell to her knees, proceeding on to pick up the nails.

"Oh no, ma'am! Don't do that! I knocked them over!" Samuel said, also going to the floor and started collecting the fallen nails.

"Oh, don't worry. I clean up worse things than this."

"Yes, but I knocked them over!"

"Oh, it's fine, really."

"But what if you ruin your pretty dress?"

Miss Jamie stopped picking up the nails and looked up at Samuel. She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh… You think my dress is pretty?"

Samuel's cheeks flared. "Y-Yes ma'am."

Everything then fell silent and Miss Jamie and Samuel just smiled at each other. I felt a cringe start to form on my lip, one that Arthur would be proud of. And that reminded me: "So, Miss Jamie. You said Arthur was looking for me?"

Miss Jamie looked up at me then gasped. "Oh, yes! Mister Kirkland is looking for you, that's right! Um...he wants you to come to his studies! Yes, yes! Go up there and tell him," she straightened up, "tell him the reason you are late is because you were out fooling around, not because of me!"

I sighed. "I will."

I turned and started up the stairs, only to look back once to see Samuel and Miss Jamie still sitting on the floor giggling. "Good heavens," I muttered as I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs.

Arthur's studies have always been an "off bounds" type of room. Alfred was allowed in there but even then, Arthur had to be with him or have had to instruct him to go get something from there. When it came down to it though, the room was only for Arthur and everyone knew to stay out of it. I stopped at the entrance of the hallway and peered into the shadowy walls. I walked past the first two doors―the first being Arthur's bedroom, the next an empty guest room―then stopped in front of the small staircase that sat under a large door. I took a breath and then stepped up onto the first step. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6._ I counted the steps until I was face to with the door. I raised my hand slowly and knocked.

The sound of a chair pushing back came from inside the room. Footsteps came louder and louder as their owner neared the door and soon I found myself looking up into Arthur's shadowed face. "H-Hello Arthur."

"Matthew," Arthur said in a deep grumble. He moved aside and gestured me in. I cautiously entered, flinching when the door was shut behind me, and watched Arthur return back to his chair.

He sat with a sigh and rubbed under his eyes. "Well, take a seat, boy."

I nodded quickly and looked around before spotting a smaller chair in the corner. "Thank you, Arthur," I said while sitting. He just glanced at me before turning in his chair.

I frowned at the stuffiness of the room and looked around. It was nothing like I would have imagined it. It was so, normal. Wood flooring, like all the other rooms in the house. Tan walls with maps and writings hanging from them. A window that offered little outside light. A desk and chair, both occupied by Arthur, with papers and inks on its top. A large trunk that sat dusty in the corner and the chair and side table I sat in now. Yes, very normal.

A clink of glass made my head turn. I watched Arthur straighten up in his chair and close the bottom draw of the desk with his foot. I sat forward just enough to see the dark green bottle in his hand and the small clear cup in the other. He sat them on the desk and turned around. "May I?"

I blinked until I understood what I was seeing. "Ah…yes. Of course. Go ahead."

Arthur laughed tiredly then tipped the bottle over his glass. A line of light brown liquid poured out. He chugged it back and had it refilled before I could blink. I had never really seen anyone drink before, but watching Arthur lean back and sip at his alcohol was slightly unnerving. I wondered if everyone looked so wretched when they drank.

"Do you like living here, Matthew?" Arthur said after swallowing a ruff shot.

"Um, I'm sorry?" I said, confused.

Arthur glanced at me with a smile. He sat down his glass. "Do you like living here, in this house?"

"Of course I do, Arthur," I answered.

"You don't miss your old home or life back in France?" Arthur said, turning all the way around to face me.

I shook my head and furrowed my eyebrows. "I…well yes, but I live here with you all and that's enough for me…," I stopped. Something tight was started to edge up the middle of my chest in fear of what the conversation was heading to. "W-Why are you asking?"

Arthur sighed and sat his hands in his lap. "How long has it been?"

I didn't have to ask to know what he was referring to. "Four years."

"And all that time have you not once thought of Francis?" Arthur said.

The name made me choke up. "N-No." That was a lie. The first year of living away from my old home I cried every night. I would wish so hard for everything to go back to the way things were. And of course I thought about Papa.

Arthur groaned and repositioned himself in his chair. "Well, I bet he's thinks about you," he said. He waited for a moment. "I know I've kept you two separated for so long and kept you distant from it all, and I'm sorry for that―"

I cut in hurriedly. "Oh no, Arthur! It really is fine―"

"Hush," Arthur flicked his hand out and I fell silent. He continued. "I've been meaning to change that, so," he stood up from his chair and pointed to a pile of paper and a set of quills and inks, "you may write him."

I stared at the desk blankly. "Like a…letter?"

"Yes," Arthur said while edging his chair closer to me. "Come and sit here."

I stood and walked slowly over to the desk. I turned and sat down on the still heated seat and let Arthur swirl me around. I studied the blank piece of paper in front of my before looking back at Arthur. He smiled tightly and patted the top of my head. "I'll leave you to it then," he turned and moved to the door. "Show him how good your English has gotten, hmm?"

Arthur left the room and I waited till his footsteps faded. I looked back down at the paper and grabbed one of the quills from its container. I dabbed it in one of the ink bottles and let the tip hover over the sheet. That's all I got to before I froze. I felt like what I wrote on the paper wasn't going to be much. I didn't have anything to say. Well, that wasn't true. I had a lot to say though I didn't know how to say it.

I sniffed into my shoulder before finally putting the quill to the parchment.

_Dear Papa__―_

I stopped and the ink from the tip spread in a blotchy line. I frowned. Picking up the paper, I wadded it and pushed it to the side of the desk. Again, a blank page looked up at me. I sighed and tightened my grip on the quill.

_Dear Papa,_

_How are you? I hope I do not need to say who this is but if so, it's Matthew__―_

I stopped again, thinking.

_I hope you are in good health. I am fine__―_

This time I sunk back into the chair and muttered. My brain started to throb as I thought of what to say. He wouldn't mind if the letter was plain, right? He wouldn't mind if it wasn't full of detail, right? Questions filled my head. My hand started to shake from holding it in the air to long. I sat it down and looked skywards to the ceiling. It was as blank as my paper. I mentally kicked myself for being so dramatic and picked my hand up again.

I swallowed then quickly scribbled down a few lines of how my time was in England and how the house America was. I wrote about Alfred and how great the others in house were. I wrote a few more lines about my schooling then stopped to study my work. My words barely filled a quarter of the page.

I moaned and dropped my head to the desk, covering my face with my arms. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly. I started to think back to when I was smaller and living in the large brick building back in France as the sudden joggle of memories had made me recall how much I loved it there. That house is where I was raised, really raised in anyway. I first spoke in that house, first walked, played. I did everything there and with the help of Papa, my father. And that's when I realized, I couldn't remember what he looked like.

I blinked a few times and shook my head. I could see the memories of myself playing out in the old homes garden with a man, with Papa, but his face was blurred. Every memory he was in, his face seemed to be erased. I panicked and started to feel that cold hand start to crawl back up my chest. My eyes stung and my throat tightened.

I was my fault for not being able to remember Papa's face, wasn't it? I thought. No, it was Arthur's. Yes. Because he took me away when I was so young. Yes that was it.

I could feel the tears gathering at the ends of my eyes. The anger I felt for Arthur when I first met him suddenly bubbled back up. I remembered I hated him. I started to cry freely and the air in the room felt like it was going to run out. That's right, I thought. I hate Arthur and all the people who stand with him. But I don't hate Alfred or, at least not anymore…

The thoughts in my head started to fog my eyes and I bent over in my chair. I wept silently and stared unmoving at the paper. I wiped at my eyes as the thoughts came back, as all the hate I had kept hidden came back to get me. And then it hit me so hard in the chest it made my breathe hitch. It was _his_ fault. It was Papa's fault. The reason I was so tired and miserable and sad and confused was because of him. If he would have been stronger, if he would have stood up for me and said something I wouldn't be here. If he had fought harder to keep me then I wouldn't have had to deal with this…mess.

I felt a terrible scowl etch its way onto my face. I picked up the quill and gabbed it harshly in the ink bottle. I jerked the tip over to the paper and started to write in fast, sloppy letters. I found myself fading into French and before I could stop myself I already had half a page written in it. I scratched down letters, not caring for the presentation of the paper. Huge drops hit my words as I wrote, smearing the ink. I wiped at my face and sniffed. I bit down on my bottom lip as I kept writing. Only when the tip of the quill ripped through the paper did I stop and look at what I had wrote. The page looked like they belong in the trash. They were smeared and dirty, but I didn't care. Finishing, I sighed my name at the bottom, not in French, but in English. I waited until the letter were dry then before sliding it into a small envelope, not caring that it didn't quite fit.

I sat there then, in the dark room, and calmed myself down. After a bit, I stood up and walked to the window. I pulled back the drab curtains and looked outside. It was dark and I figured it had to be dinner time. I went back to the desk and grabbed the envelope, blew out the lamp and headed for the door. I exited the room and walked down the first three steps. I stopped and wiped at my eyes one last time then continued out into the hallway.

I could hear talking and laughter coming from the dining room. I felt empty in my stomach but I doubted food would fill it. I walked down the main staircase and turned into the living room. Bright lights from the hanging candles burned my eyes and the smell of cooked meat made my nose arch. I stopped when I reached the dining room's doorway. The sound of voices and the click of dishes rattled my ears.

I frowned and walked back into the living room. Is stood in the middle of the flooring and listened to the loud conversation in the other room, waiting to hear if anyone was going to get up and look for me. No one did. I sighed and walked back upstairs to my bedroom. I shut my door and fell onto my bed. My eyes felt puffy and drooped and I didn't even have to think about before I was asleep.

A time later, I could vaguely hear Alfred walk into the room. I felt myself being lifted and placed under my bed sheets. He lightly kissed my forehead and pulled the envelope I had fallen asleep with out of my hand. I watched with fuzzy eyes as he looked at the envelope and then put it in his shirt pocket before I went back to sleep.

The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, the only person there was Arthur. When he saw me, he said that Alfred went down to town to give away my letter. I then began to wait for the long months to pass and for a responding note to come.

One never did.


	6. Matthew's Letter

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

Matthew's Letter~

_Dear __Papa-__ Francis,_

_ How are you? I hope I do not need to say who this is but if so, it's Matthew. I__hope you are in good health. I am fine... _

_ Well, I suppose I will tell you how my time has been. When I first left, I was taken to England where I lived in Arthur's home for a few months. I then sailed to America, more specifically, Boston where I moved into Alfred's home. This house is slightly bigger than our old home or I mean your old home or your still current home... Speaking of Alfred, he and I are quite close. I am very glad to have met him and the others that spend time here. If you were wondering about my schooling, you don't need to worry. Arthur hired a wonderful man named Mr. Brixton and his teaching are very good. As you can see I have learned English very well..._

_ Why did you let me go? Why didn't you stand up for me? All you did that day was put me in that carriage and wave goodbye. Why? Why didn't you run after me? Why? Etait-ce si facile de dire au revoir? Hein? Etait-ce si facile de me regarder souffrir et étre traîné désespérément loin de vous? Vous n'avez rien d'autre que rester là! Vous rappelez-vous ce que vous m'avez dit il ya si longtemps? Vous avez dit, si j'ai appelé pour vous que vous viendriez? Eh bien, j'ai appelé pour vous alors! J'ai appelé pour vous depuis quatre ans et vous n'êtes jamais venu! Jamais! Avez-vous tout simplement pas veulent plus de moi? Était-ce cela? Avez-vous tout simplement pas autant d'amour que je croyais que vous a fait? Si ce n'est pas vrai, alors pourquoi n'ai-je pas vu? C'est quelque chose que vous arrêter ou vous avez oublié de moi? Il n'a pas vraiment d'importance maintenant si. Je peux à peine me rappeler votre visage. Je vous ai manqué pendant si longtemps. Vous avez quitté un tel trou dans ma vis. Je vous ai aimés. Je t'aime toujours. Mais je n'ai pas confiance en vous comme je l'étais. _

_ J'espère que vous me souviens qu'après cette letter. Vous avez besoin de me rappeler. Vous devez penser à ce jour et voir si vous avez ressenti la douleur autant que j'ai fait. J'en doute._

Très sincèrement vôtre,

Matthew Williams.

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><p>Author's note: Hello! This is a...mini chapter i suppose. Matthew's letter. Translations-<p>

**Etait-ce si facile de dire au revoir? Hein? Était-il si facile pour vous de me regarder souffrir et d'être traîné loin de vous! Vous rappelez-vous ce que vous m'avez dit il ya si longtemps? Vous avez dit, si j'ai appelé pour vous que vous viendriez? Eh bien, j'ai appelé pour vous alors! J'ai appelé pour vous depuis quatre ans et vous n'êtes jamais venu! Jamais! Avez-vous tout simplement pas veulent plus de moi? Était-ce cela? Avez-vous tout simplement pas autant d'amour que je croyais que vous a fait? Si ce n'est pas vrai, alors pourquoi n'ai-je pas vu? C'est quelque chose que vous arrêter ou vous avez oublié de moi? Il n'a pas vraiment d'importance maintenant si. Je peux à peine me rappeler votre visage. Je vous ai manqué pendant si longtemps. Vous avez quitté un tel trou dans ma vis. Je vous ai aimés. Je t'aime toujours. Mais je n'ai pas confiance en vous comme je l'étais.**

**J'espère que vous me souviens qu'après cette letter. Vous avez besoin de me rappeler. Vous devez penser à ce jour et voir si vous avez ressenti la douleur autant que j'ai fait. J'en doute.**

**Très sincèrement vôtre,**

**Was it so easy to say goodbye? Eh? Was it so easy to watch me suffer and be dragged away from you? You did nothing but sit there! Do you remember what you said so long ago? You said if I called to you that you would come? Well, I called for you then! I called to you for four years and you never came! Ever! Do you just not want me anymore? Was that it? Do you just not love me as much as I thought you did? If this is not true, then why have I not seen? You could stop this or have you forgotten me? It does not really matter now though. I can hardly remember your face. I've missed you for so long. You left such a hole in my live. I have loved you. I love you always. But I do not trust you like I did.**

**I hope you remember after reading this letter. You need to remember. You must think of that day and see if you felt as much pain as I did. I doubt it.**

**Very truly yours,**

* * *

><p>There you go, Matthew's letter. Thank you all so much for reading! Please review and leave me your comments.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

June 29, 1767~

I have never liked Arthur's...acquaintances. Back when I lived in England, there would always be some, muttering about the house; coughing and hacking or giving off their truly appalling comments of everything and everyone. When I left I thought I would never again have to see those men, yet that blissful idea burned away when a boat full of them arrived at the docks one spring morning.

"Ah—Arthur my good boy. Hear, take my coat."

"Dear Lord! Look at this house. It's a right bloody mess."

"Yes, quite. And you too are the shear resemblance to one of those damn beggars on the streets, Kirkland."

"When was the last time you dusted, Kirkland. You know how sensitive my nose is to dust."

Alfred and I snickered from behind the doorway of the sitting room as we watched the men pile on coat after coat and comment after comment on a bedraggled Arthur.

The day had actually started out normal:

Alfred and Arthur had dragged out an assorted collection of guns and had spent most of the afternoon shooting away out on the back lawn while I spent my time preparing lunch for the house—Miss Jamie had asked me to go fetch a certain Samuel Maverick from town so he might help _her_ prepare the lunch. Samuel had, obviously, accepted. In the end, though, Miss Jamie and Samuel found it much more amusing to giggling and whisper to each other in the sitting room than making lunch. So I took it upon myself to feed the residents of the house and cooked the whole meal by myself.

By the time the men had arrived, both Alfred and Arthur were covered in sweat and gunpowder and still stood in their work clothes, while I had layers of different foods and ingredients from the kitchen. Speaking for the three of us, the sight for our guest was nothing to applaud.

Arthur scooped up the coats and managed to place them all on a rack before turning back to the men, his lips cocked in angles that could hardly be considered a smile. "Gentlemen. I had no notice of your...arrival," Arthur said, teeth tightly grinding into each other and hands rubbing. "I would have clean a bit more if I had."

From the crowd came a plump man with shaking cheeks. He stuck his thumbs in the front slits of his tight vest. "Well if the mailing system around this God forsaken town was better, maybe you would have gotten it when we sent it."

I heard Alfred snort behind me and grabbed his hand. I looked back out to the men. They really did all look the same to me. Tight suits, large wigs or slicked back hair hidden under carefully placed hats, bright red faces which could clearly show their love for alcohol, and dreadful manners which failed to consist any respect for another human being. These types of people I could certainly do without.

I felt Alfred's large hand grab my shoulders as a tall, lanky man asked Arthur about us. Alfred leaned down to my ear, "Right Mattie. Here we go." Seconds after, Arthur called our names and Alfred pushed us into the front room.

We stopped in front of the men a casually tried to brush off that days filth from clothes as Arthur introduced us. "Gentlemen, this is Alfred. I'm quite positive you met him once before..." Arthur paused and glanced at Alfred, "though you may remember him...differently."

Alfred stuck his hand out, only to switch it with his other when seeing a smear of black powder covering his palm. "Very nice to meet you all, sirs."

Instead of returning the handshake, the men started to chatter.

"_This_ is that little boy who was with you in Sussex, Kirkland?" a short man said.

"By God, he's as big as a horse!" a taller one said.

"And as strong as one too by the looks of it," another said.

An elder of the group got closer to Alfred and stared up at him. "You'll soon be joining the King's regiment, eh. Well I hope Mister Kirkland here has been teaching you all about the honors of fighting for our great empire."

Alfred's fake smile twitched but held. "Of course."

Arthur coughed then gestured to me. "And this is Matthew." All gave me a blank look. "...Bonnefoy's boy."

"Ah, yes. That bloody Frenchman. I had forgotten he even owned more land than France," the fatter man from before chimed in over the others. All laughed and I hid my anger at the back of my throat. "Anyway, Kirkland," the man continued, "Mr. Alan will be joining us this meeting, so..." he gestured to Arthur's clothing and over all state of dirtiness.

Arthur blinked then jumped slightly. "Mr. Alan?"

The men chuckled before the fat one snorted. "Yes. He'll probably be here any minute, now."

Arthur lifted one side of his nose in a reached grimace before regaining his smile. He turned to us quickly. "Boys," he said, "how about you two go get freshened up a bit, hmm."

Alfred answered for both of us with one, "Sure thing, Arthur" before grabbing my shoulder and leading me to the stairs.

Alfred moved quickly, jogging behind me, and his knee finally found its way to my rear. "Watch it Al." I elbowed him in the stomach, earning a giggled sorry. Once at the top of the stairs, Alfred turned to the right hallway and pushed me to the wall.

"What are you doing...?" I asked only to be cut off with a childish, "SHH!" We waited there, watching the opening to the stairs, before Arthur's footsteps could be heard. Arthur made his way to the top of the stairs and looked over at us.

Alfred whispered over my head, "What's happening, Arthur?"

Arthur looked to the floor and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose; a sign of pure mind-numbing fatigue. "I got them all in the sitting room, damned old fools," he said darkly over his shoulder. "I'll go back down there and talk with them in a moment."

"And what do we do?" Alfred whispered again.

Arthur stared at the two of us before shrugging his shoulders. "Stand and look pretty, I guess."

Alfred laughed and moved away from me. I watched as the others disappeared behind their bedroom doors before going to my own.

I shut the door and locked it. I walked over to my closet and fished out my best looking clothes, a combination of a light purple dress shirt and a brown vest and pair of pants. I placed the clothes on my bed and started to undress. I slipped out of everything but my under-garments. I shivered as the cold air of my room crawled over my bare skin. I reached for my shirt but froze. In the mirror across the room I saw myself. I frowned.

I walked over closer to the glass and stared at my reflection. A skinny, pale, weak looking little boy stared back at me. I glanced at all the boney details of my body and sighed. So ugly, I thought. My frown deepened and, in a sudden moment of complete irritation, I raised my arms and puffed out my chest. I found myself looking more foolish than I had ever been before. My ribs stuck out like a dried fish and my arms shook as I tried to flex my imperceptible muscles. I dropped my arms and my shoulders slumped.

I knew I would never be like Alfred, or Davidson, or even Arthur, but the fact of it all still made me feel useless.

I jumped when a knock at the door came. "Mattie, you almost done?" Alfred's voice echoed through the door.

"Yes! Coming!" I shouted and moved back to my bed. Alfred kept talking aimlessly from outside in the hallway as I pulled on my clothes. I grabbed a pair of shoes from under my bed and jogged over to the door. I open it and stared up at Alfred. His face seemed miles above my head.

He smiled. "Ready to go?"

I sighed as I slipped my feet into my shoes. "No."

"Great," Alfred laughed and put his hand on my back. He led me back to the stairs and he walked out in front of me. I watched as Al's broad back got farther and farther away. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he looked back up to me and held out his hand.

I grabbed the railing and started down the steps. I jumped down the last three boards. Alfred formed his hand around mine and squeezed it tightly. Before I knew it, we entered the sitting room and dread of the moment began.

The men had taken every seat available in the room, though four or five still had to stand. Miss Jamie, who I believe was in the middle of some alone time with Samuel when they were so rudely interrupted, was now rushing around the room, frazzled, reassuring the men that appetizers were on their way. Samuel, on the other hand, stood petrified in a corner as three of the men bombarded him with questions, his face frozen in absolute dismay. A pair of men chirped up and gestured Alfred over with a lazy wave from their boney fingers.

My hand instinctively tightened around Alfred's as he started to pull away. He looked down at me with a smile and slowly slid his hand out of mine. He moved over to the other side of the room and began to talk with some of the men, leaving me to stand unprotected.

At that moment, everything started to seem louder and more defined. The men's voices hit me from the front while the sound of Davidson rustling in the kitchen hit my back. From all angles there was noise. I flinched as Arthur stepped past me suddenly, now dressed in one of his finer suits, the smell of the soaps he used practically suffocating me. The sound grew again and all the smells of the room made my head feel tight. Everything was so close.

I started to feel smaller and smaller, like the room was moving around me ready to swallow me whole. The sun that traveled in through the windows grew brighter and my eyesight blurred. I closed my eyes and cupped my ears. Everything was so close. I open my eyes again and the room did a tilt. My stomach turned and my heart started to jolt in my chest. I dropped my hands to my middle and squeezed it. The air in my lungs felt like lead weight. Everything was just so close to me.

I saw Alfred giving me an alarmed look out of the corner of my eye and started to walk over to me. I squeezed my eyes shut again and tried to breathe deeply. Air caught in my throat I my heart beat faster. I could feel the room tilting again and my stomach again shook. The throbbing in my head smashed against my skull.

I felt my knees buckle. My body started to fall backwards and the feeling of air rushed past me. Everything was too close...

I hit something stiff and hard. I waited then opened my eyes. I looked out to all the surprised faces that looked back at me.

"Watch it, boy. We don't want you to fall, now."

I slick, easy voice came from behind me. I looked up suddenly and found another face staring down at me. A man with pulled back black hair and an equally black suit was standing there. His face was bright and young and his lips had the lines of a constant smile etched around them. He was in many ways a fine example of a perfect gentleman, but his eyes told another story; there bark brown circles held a flicker of malevolence and deceit. They were so dark and harsh that they cut into my face as he studied it.

Miss Mary's glowing face popped out from behind the man. "Oh, um... A Mr. Alan is here for you, Mister Kirkland."

I still stared up at _Mr. Alan_ even when Arthur came and pushed me away, but only because Mr. Alan still stared at me.

"Mr. Alan! What pleasure it is to see you again," Arthur said grabbing Mr. Alan's hand and shaking it.

Mr. Alan gave me another look before looking at Arthur, his face brightening with a smile. "Of course the feeling is mutual, gentlemen."

With that, all of the men rushed by me to shake hands and give greetings. I stood unmoving at the back of the crowd when I felt Alfred's hand grab my shoulder. I looked over at him then let him lead me over to one of the seats that only seconds before was occupied by one of the men's rears. I sat down tiredly and stared at my feet. Miss Jamie, Samuel, and Miss Mary made their way over to us and looked down at me.

"Oh, are you alright Mister Matthew?" Miss Mary said, whipping out a rag and dabbing it at my forehead.

"I think Mattie here just had a little panic attack," Alfred said, brow furrowed but eyes worried.

"Oh, well I'm not surprised," Miss Jamie said with a huff. "Those men in there are so terribly rude—and I don't care if he is some big judge back in England, I don't like that Mr. Alan character. Uh-uh! Not one bit."

"I thought I was about to faint as well. They got me cornered and asked me what station of the army I worked in," Samuel said, face still frazzled.

"Oh, poor Mister Matthew. How about I go check if we can get some food in your tummy and get you feeling better, hmm?" Miss Mary said, turning towards the kitchen before I had time to decline.

Miss Jamie and Samuel started to talk amongst themselves while I kept to the floor. I felt Alfred kneel down next to me and slide his palm to the back of my neck. "Are you alright, Matthew?" he whispered into my ear, so seriously that my name came out fully from his lips.

"Yes..." I said in return. "I really am."

Alfred smiled at me fondly and stood back up, though his hand still squeezed my neck. I looked over to the crowd of men and watched as Arthur and Mr. Alan nudge out of the group and stand on the outside of the men:

"Gentlemen; now that everyone," Arthur said glancing slightly at Mr. Alan, "is here, let us move to the library where we can all get on with this meeting." Arthur pointed over to the door on the other side of the sitting room.

The men all mumbled to their neighbors before forming a crooked line and walking towards the door. As the line of guest slowly disappeared into the library, Arthur held back and walked over to myself and the others. He stopped in front of me and I looked back down at the floor. I could feel his eyes staring at me. He looked away to Alfred and said, "This little meeting of ours will probably last the rest of the day. You all," he said lowly, referring to all who stood around, "mind yourselves."

As Arthur kept talking, I looked up across the room. Mr. Alan's horrid eyes were the ones to meet mine. For some reason, I didn't feel unnerved and I held the stare. I could tell he knew I knew who he really was. He could see that I was not one of those fool who fell into his performance. He was a terrible actor on my stage.

Alfred nodded when Arthur stopped talking. "Of course, Arthur."

Arthur blinked then turned and walked back over to Mr. Alan, who finally looked away. "Alright. Let's get this damn thing over with, hah?" Arthur smirked lightly and started walking to the library.

Mr. Alan didn't move but looked back at me. I glared in confusion as I watched his lips grow into a slick smile. "Actually," Mr. Alan said, making Arthur pause, "I would greatly enjoy if you would join us, Mister Alfred."

Both Alfred's and Arthur's eyes shot open. Alfred glanced around the room for a moment before pointing to himself. "Me, sir?"

"Him, sir?" Arthur said from behind Mr. Alan, his face hard and pale.

Mr. Alan turned to Arthur and cleared his through. "Yes. We can always use some…new voices in these things," he said, starting towards the library. He stopped slightly when passing Arthur. "Don't you think?"

Arthur stared at a spot in the air as Mr. Alan walked on by into the library. Alfred stood anxiously next to me, shifting from one leg to another. He looked at me quickly then walked over to Arthur. He smiled lightly down at him. "Ready Arth—"

Alfred began to speak but Arthur turned, silencing him with the absence of attention. Arthur grabbed the door handle of the library. He stood there stiffly and waited for Alfred to come over. Alfred walked cautiously over to him and through the doorway, shoulders flinching slightly when Arthur hurriedly stepped behind him and shut the door.

I stared at the closed door and felt my stomach tighten. Everyone left in the room seem to give a combined sigh. Miss Mary walked in at that moment with a cup of cream and chocolate. She padded over to me and stuck the dessert in my hand. "Oh, hear Mister Matthew, eat some of this then," she pulled a spoon out of her apron and stuck it in the cup.

I stared down at the dessert and frowned slightly. My appetite was non-existing. My stomach felt hard and I didn't think that I had it in me to eat anything. I rolled the cup absently in my palm. "I'm not that hungry."

Miss Mary snorted and shook her head. "Oh, sugar always makes the body easy. After your episode, you should really eat some."

I frowned over at her. "I didn't have an episode."

Everyone turned around as Davidson stormed in from the kitchen. "Hey! Ya all know that those desserts are for after dinner!" he shouted.

Miss Jamie turned towards the other and frowned. "Oh, don't you get all huffy. Mister Matthew needed some and besides, no one was going to eat your desserts tonight anyway."

Davidson and Miss Jamie started to bicker while Miss Mary stood by, shaking her head in disapproval. I felt Samuel scoot next to me and lean over the arm of the chair. "Are you not going to eat that, Matthew?"

I looked over at him then at the cup of dessert. I sighed. "No."

Samuel smiled as I handed over the treat. I watched him shove a spoon full into his mouth then looked away, back over at the shut library's door. The weight in my middle seemed to grow. Something was happening, I knew it. Something was changing, and just like always, I had no idea how to stop it.

—

It was a good time after midnight till the men exited the library. Up until then, the others and I moved into the dining room.

Miss Jamie and Davidson never ceased to fight and Miss Mary did her very best to restrain herself from hitting both of them in the back of the heads. Samuel managed to finish my dessert, along with five more cups of the darn stuff. I, as usual, did nothing. Just sat quietly, not hinting to anyone that a heavy pressure was slowly growing inside of me.

When the men came out, they all filed into the front room and crowded around the front door. Everyone got up from the dining room and joined the crowd, I immediately running to Al's side. I looked up at him, ready with questions, but he did not look back. He just stared at the floor blankly.

Mr. Alan and Arthur came in last. Arthur made his way to the front door and opened it. He turned to the crowd and cup one hand over his lips:

"Gentlemen!"

All the men stopped talking and turned their attention to Arthur. He smiled tightly. "Thank you all for joining me today. And a special thanks to Mr. Alan for lending us his presence," he stopped then started to clap. The other men applauded lightly, all looking at Mr. Alan. He smiled that terrible smile and bowed.

With that, Arthur ushered everyone out the door. The men trampled down the walkway and slowly began to disappear into the night, like the bugs they were.

Mr. Alan, of course, was the last to leave. He took it upon himself to kiss every cheek and shake every hand of the house before ever moving towards the door. While shaking Alfred's hand he commented on how wonderful it was having him in the meeting. "Truly an honor, Mister Alfred."

Alfred looked directly into the other's eyes and flashed a played smile. "Of course, sir."

Mr. Alan smiled then turned and looked at me. I took a slight step back and watched him make his way over to me. I hid my hands casually behind my back.

"Oh, please. I haven't yet the pleasure of shaking your hand, Matthew," he said. He stuck out a gloved hand and waited, the smile still etched into his face.

I glared then move one hand. The moment my hand touched his, five cold fingers —even with the gloves—wrapped around me. I felt myself being pulled closer to him and soon found his face extremely close to mine.

His eyes lost their glint and his face seemed to harden into a horrid figure of hate. He had become his true self just for me. His voice came out deathly low, the fake manner of speech completely gone. "I hope this meeting will be just one of many, Matthew. But the next time, I expect a smile to be on that awful little face of yours," he hissed quietly, only audible for my ears. He back away and his fingers unraveled from my hand. He stared back down at me, his face back to his façade. I glared even more.

"Good-bye, Matthew," he said with a smile, ruffling my hair. I jerked away.

Mr. Alan gave me one last look then turned to Arthur who still stood waiting at the door. "Lovely to see you again, Kirkland," he said, grabbing his hat from under his arm and placing it on his head.

Arthur nodded briskly. "The same."

Mr. Alan glanced Arthur up and down then walked on by, finally leaving to join the darkness outside, his back easily blending with the shadows of the night.

Arthur shut the door with a relieving sigh. He turned back to the rest of us who stared in anticipation. He looked between us then trudged past, up the stairs and to his room, not saying a word. Everyone was silent and unmoving for a bit then started to separate into their own rooms.

Miss Jamie sent Samuel out with a kiss to the cheek then went with her mother up to their room for the night. Davidson returned to the kitchen to clean up the dishes that sat dirtied leaving me and Al to walk up the stairs by ourselves.

He followed behind me and when we got to the top I turned and stared down at him. "What's wrong, Al? What happened in the library?"

Alfred stared back at me then shook his head. "Nothing…"

I felt irritation wash over me. "Well something must have—"

I stopped talking and stared in slight surprise as Alfred punched the wall next to him, imprinting the curves of his knuckles in the wood. "You want to know what happened?" he said, loudly. I glanced to Arthur's room nervously and Alfred lowered his voice. "You want to know?" he whispered. "I walked into that room ready to speak my opinions and go along with that meeting, but all I got to was sit there! Every time—_every_ time—I raised my hand or tried to speak, Arthur would hush me! He wouldn't let me do anything but watch as the meeting flew by!" Alfred stopped taking and raised a hand up to his face, dragging it down his mouth. "And do you know what?" he spoke again. "They agreed on a new tax right in front of me."

I stared at him wide eye and watched his eyes shift over my face. "Right in front of me, Mattie."

He looked at me as if waiting for me to say something comforting. I shook my head. I didn't know what to say. "I-I'm sorry…"

Alfred's angered face fell and he just looked at me. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it. He looked at the ground sadly then turned to his room. He opened it quietly then walked in, shutting it without another word.

I stood still for a moment then moved to my room. I entered through the doorway and locked the door behind me. I staggered over to my bed and fell face down in the sheets. I didn't care to take off my clothing or cover myself with the blankets, I felt like I could hardly move.

So much had happen all in one day that, when it was over, the tiredness finally came down on me. The uninvited men, my little episode, Arthur and Alfred with their ever changing moods, Mr. Alan and I's hidden hate for each other, all of it made my head spin. I felt my eyes begin to sag and I breathed in a gust of air. I sighed into my pillow and shut my eyes. The pressure in my stomach was still there and a small throbbing in my head pounded at my skull. I could feel the sir around me turn slightly, like everything suddenly seemed different. And that's when I knew that the real world had finally caught up with me. Nothing would ever be the same. The good times had been and gone.

* * *

><p>Yeah, chapter 6! Thanks for reading and remember, reviews are lovely!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

**March 5, 1770~**

It was dark; darker than the night sky was usually. I listened to the sounds of my shoes click against the cobbled streets of the town. The lights from the lamps that lined the curbs danced back and forth, illuminating the houses and stores. The leaning structures of wood creaked toward me and bent with the eerie wind that fluttered against my cheeks. I recognized then where I was:

_King Street._

An icy chill ran down the back of my neck. It was like someone was hovering behind me, though my feet were planted to the ground. I couldn't move. Four more times, the shivering feeling graced my skin.

The sky started to dim even more and the candle light from the lamps blew out in a silent flutter. I tried to look around but my head stayed forward, unmovable, just as my legs. I blinked as a shadow crept from the edge of the road and slid to the center of my view. My chest jumped as the shadow slowly morphed into a man, the outline clear but all detail gone, replaced with a dark gathering of nothingness. I watched in mid horror as four more figures slip from the first.

I felt my heart thump. _"Who are you…?"_ My words came out limp and my voice died. My tongue went dry and my mouth shut.

The figure furthest to the right suddenly grabbed at his chest and fell to the ground. Some loud click went off beside my ear, like gunfire. It rattled me down to the center of my stomach. I wanted to run, I was scared, but I couldn't. The figure at the left end soon followed his fallen friend. Again, the sound shot through my ears. The third fell. Another shot. The fourth. Another... and then stood one.

It seemed like my body was about to break. The sounds seemed to have frozen me even further. My eyes locked onto the last figure standing. The skin around my cheeks stretched as my eyes grew and grew. I was so scared.

The figure finally made a move. Instead of just falling to the ground, he raised his arm, pointing a slim finger at my chest. Then, like all the others, he fell to the ground, a heap of shadows that would never again stand. I started to franticly try as hard as I could to wave my arms, to catch myself, as I felt myself slowly tip back on my heels.

The sky tilted and the buildings stretched upwards as my head went down. I descended to the dark brick street in a hard crash. I laid there, motionless, staring at the starless sky. The feelings of dread I had only just felt had suddenly vanished, leaving me hollow, without thought. I tried again to move my head and easily, I rolled it to the side. Spreading around me was a pool of red silk, a growing reflection of blood.

I stared blankly at the warmth that covered the back of my head. It eased its way through the crevices of the street out further and further away from me. It seemed to cover the road, the town, the sky. I didn't see shadows anymore, nothing was black, everything had turned scarlet.

—

I jolted. My eyes searched wildly over the wooden ceiling. I blinked and opened my dry mouth. I sighed at the felling of movement. What an awful dream.

I sat up slowly and glanced around. I was in my room, safe in my bed, surrounded by walls of a warm home. I rolled all my joints, just to make sure I still could, then moved my legs over the side of the bed. I shivered as my bare feet touched the floor. I looked over at my clock and grimaced. It was too late to be up and walking through the house but I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, not after that dream…

I stood up achingly and stretched out my back. I slipped on a pair of cloth shoes and walked to my door. The round doorknob hit my palm smoothly and the door swung noiselessly open. I walked out into the dark hallway and shivered at the memory of how dark my dream had been. I stepped lightly over to the top of the stairs.

A childish fear urged me to go down the stair quickly. I sped down the steps and jumped down into the front room. I stared back up at the dark second floor and frowned. A long time ago, I had rid myself of that stupid fear of the dark, I guess the dream stirred it back up.

I looked over at the dinning where the soft sounds of plates clicking from the kitchen drifted through the doorway. I walked in and stared at the empty room. Light from the kitchen lit the walls dimly and the heat skimmed my cheeks. I walked closer to the kitchen door only to jump backwards as Miss Jamie rounded the corner.

"Oh!" Miss Jamie jumped then stared at me with a gleaming smile. "Well hello Mister Matthew."

I stared up at her sheepishly. "Hello… Sorry I startled you."

Miss Jamie waved her hand absently. "Oh, don't. It was my fault anyway. I thought you were out for the night."

I moved aside as Miss Jamie waked by and sat down at the empty center table. I studied her from where I stood. She had aged. Her body had filled out and her face was now slimmer, lacking of the reddish tint she use to always wear. Her curly blonde hair that she had kept long for such a time now only hung to her shoulders. Her bright, wondering blue eyes were now darker and held a more mature shine to them.

I walked over to the table and took the seat next to Miss Jamie. I stared at the tabletop before the feeling of eyes on me made me turn. "Hmm?"

Miss Jamie blinked then smiled. She held one hand up under her chin while moving the other over to a basket of leftover rolls. She slowly pulled it over and scooted it slightly closer to me. "Oh, you didn't get to eat dinner. You must be hungry," she said nudging the basket again.

I smiled and shook my head. "It's fine. I'm not that hungry."

Miss Jamie sucked in one side of her mouth and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" she paused to pluck a roll from the basket. She popped it into her mouth and made a soothing sound.

I laughed quietly then sniffed. "When did I go to sleep?"

Miss Jamie devoured another piece of bread before answering. "Oh, well you came into the sitting room and said you were trying to find your book. Mister Alfred said he would help you look up in your room, but when he got there, you were asleep," she said.

"Oh…" I slowly started to remember my futile search for that stupid book _Robinson Crusoe_. I had looked all over my room and ended up looking under my bed while lying on top of it. "Well, this week has been tiring."

Miss Jamie nodded. "Oh, it has."

Both of us then stopped talking and that's when I first realized that we were the only two down here. "Where is everyone?" I asked.

Miss Jamie, mid-bite, sat down her current roll and began listing off the whereabouts of the household. "Oh, mother's asleep in her room. She went almost the same time you did. Um…" she stopped and frowned. "Mister Alfred is off with Samuel and Davidson," she said, huffing. "Oh, Davidson rode them into town so they could go visit some friends, the Carys, and said I couldn't go with them because they were going to do "manly things"," she took another huge bite from her roll and muttered with a full mouth, "Oh, those men…"

I smiled at the pout Miss Jamie gave. I blinked. "And where's Arthur?"

Miss Jamie paused. "Ah…oh, Mister Kirkland's in the library," she said. "He's been in there all by himself for so long. You might go check on him, Mister Matthew."

I cringed. I didn't want to speak with Arthur. Over the last couple of years, he has become a tightly-wound old man—I don't know what happened, but after that night, when Alfred had been allowed to that meeting, Arthur was never the same. He didn't have that glint of actual emotion in his eyes anymore, but a cold depthless pressure that burned into everything he looked at—He never ceased in showing me just how dark he could be. Though he never really noticed me, now days, I'm not even a dot in his eyesight.

"Maybe later," I said head down.

Miss Jamie mumbled. "Oh, I know that Mister Kirkland isn't the most…warmest of people, but he is still your family."

I froze at that. I didn't consider anyone apart of my family other than the household and Alfred. Not Arthur and certainly not _him_. "Alright…" I reluctantly stood up from my seat and started to walk away. I felt Miss Jamie gently touch the back of my arm. I glanced over at her tenderly then kept walking on.

I walked through the front room and into the sitting room. The twinkling stars in the night sky and the bright moon spilled rays of bluish light over the unlit room. I looked over at the library's shut door. I sighed and walked through the moonlit floor over to the next room.

I tapped on the door's surface and waited. Nothing happened. I sighed and tapped again. Still, quiet. I bit the inside of my mouth and grabbed the doorknob. I slowly twisted it and opened the door inch by inch. "Arthur…?" I whispered his name as I fully opened the door.

I stared blankly at the man who sat at the table. I had never seen him like this before. Sitting in the wooden chair, head resting in the palm of his upright hand, was Arthur, fast asleep.

I hesitated before waking cautiously inside the room and over to the desk. I stopped when I was only feet away and stared at the other. He had been working—seeing as how a quill rested precariously in his left hand, its ink still spreading into a dark blotch on his paper. I observed Arthur's face in near astonishment. He looked so ragged and tired, and even with his eyes resting, dark circles lined their bottoms. For the first time, I was seeing how Arthur really looked. The powerful aura that always followed him was gone and his face looked so miserable. I felt terrible forever thinking such awful things about him. I actually felt pity for the man.

"Mmm—"

I stepped back as Arthur's eyes opened. He glanced around with a groggy sway of his head then looked straight at me. My eyes lock onto his and I stood their fidgeting. His eyes were dark and bloodshot but still dug into my chest, making me feel small. "H-Hello, Art-Arthur," I stumbled over my words, like I always do around him.

Arthur stared at me a little longer then blinked widely, a sudden look of unexpectedness flashing over them. "Matthew? Wha…" his voice came out rough and dry and he cleared his throat in an unsettling cough. "What time is it?"

I watched him sit up straighter in his seat and glare down at his ruined paper. He looked back at me irritated when I didn't answer. "Oh! I-It's nearly eleven thirty."

His next question was not surprising. "Is Alfred back from town?"

I paused before shaking my head. "No."

Arthur breathed heavily then coughed again. He twisted in his chair, blinking repeatedly to wake his eyes, and leaned across to a nearby shelf. He pulled a book that sat on top of the others and held it out to me. "Is this that book you were looking for?"

I craned my neck and read the blue letters of the book; _Robinson Crusoe_. "Y-Yes," I took the book in my hands and smile slightly. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur barley moved the side of his lips in a recognizing smirk. "You're welcome."

I nodded slowly and then began the long wait as no more words were spoken. Arthur stood up from his chair and walked over to the window behind him. Its bottom was open slightly and when Arthur's fingers touched the frame, it shut with a creaking sound. He turned to me and glanced over my face. "Why are you up Matthew?"

I stared at the floor for a moment. I didn't want to tell Arthur about my dream, if anyone it was going to be Alfred. I shook my head. "I just woke up. Now I can't seem to fall back asleep."

Arthur scoffed. "I know what that's like." He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He glanced over at me then picked at his sleeve. "Have you—" he paused mid-sentence, as if trying to genuinely talk with me. "Have you been doing well in Brixton's lessons?"

I blinked at him sadly. Mr. Brixton had left for his home in Georgia almost two months earlier. He had told me that his family had asked for him to come back south. He also told me that Alfred and I had learned all we needed to learn so his teachings wouldn't be required. His leave was a sad one for everyone, but apparently not sad enough for Arthur to remember it. "Mr. Brixton's been gone since January. He moved back to Georgia." Arthur stared at me dumbly. "H-His family's down there."

"So you've been doing nothing this past month?" Arthur's question took me by surprise.

"U-Um, no, actually, I've been reading a lot and learning by myself," I said.

Arthur's smirk broadened. "You always did have your nose in a book."

I frowned. The statement stung but I kept my tongue. "Yeah I guess."

The soles of Arthur's shoes clicked as he leaned forward. He smiled at me and opened his mouth to say more when the sound of doors slamming echoed through the air. My head whipped around while Arthur stood up straight in surprise. He and I walked to the door as a voice yelled from outside the room.

"Mister Kirkland! Mister Kirkland—oh, please! Mister Kirkland!"

I glanced over at Arthur then backed away as he bolted out the door. I followed after him, the feeling of dread growing in the back of my throat. We turned the corner of the sitting room and entered the front room. I stared from behind Arthur's back and watched as Davidson ran up the stairs, arms wild.

"What the bloody hell are you doing, Davidson?" Arthur said eyes wide, brow furrowed.

Davidson turned and looked down the stairs. His dark skin was covered in sweat and his eyes were red. His chest rose and fell quickly. "Oh lord—Mister Kirkland. Mister Kirkland," Davidson ran back down the stairs and stopped abruptly in front of us. "You—you have to come. You have to come to the town. Some—somethin' terrible has happened."

Arthur raised his hands as Davidson panted. "What has happened, Davidson?"

Across the room, Miss Jamie had come out of the dining room, hands gripping her dress startled. "Mi-Mister Samuel's had an accident. He was hurt real bad."

"What happened to Maverick," Davidson flinched as Arthur grabbed his shoulders roughly, "and what about Alfred?"

Davidson paused, eyes wide, and then swallowed. "There was an argument and some men started shoutin'. Th-Then there was gun fire and—Samuel was shot."

Davidson stopped talking when Miss Jamie gasped. She immediately ran to the front door. All three of us watched as she opened it and sprinted down the pathway. Arthur and I stared back at Davidson with utter shock.

"What about Alfred?" Arthur whispered. Davidson started to babble and Arthur's face slowly started to shift. His voice came out hoarse. "Where is he!"

"H-He's still back in town, w-with Samuel."

Davidson barely had time to finish speaking before Arthur ran out the door as well. I watched his back get further and further away. He pasted Miss Jamie, who still ran down the last part of the pathway, within a few leaps. In a moment, Arthur body was devoured by the shadows of the town.

I looked back at Davidson. He stood holding his tattered cap close to his chest while tears ran down his face.

I shook my head and stared at the ground. My stomach was twisted and my heart was beating at an outrageous rate. I stood motionless as the scene sunk deeper into my head. The back of my neck suddenly went cold and my skin rose. It seemed like time was dying and the air had turned poisonous. I wanted Alfred and Samuel back. I wanted for everything that Davidson had said to just be erased.

My feet started to move, heel to toe. They soon picked up traction and I found myself running faster than I ever had down the pathway of the house. I heard Davidson shout my name then began to run after me.

Wind rushed by my ears and brushed my face. My legs throbbed and my breath came out short. I sped down the wooden steps and my feet finally touched the stone streets of the town. I tripped slightly and my leg twisted. I grunted softly then began to run again, this time with an aching limp. Davidson came up behind me, huffing and wheezing.

We quickly walked past building after building till we reached the edge of a muttering crowd. I looked around wildly. Everything was blurring together as the emotions in the back of my eyes finally contacted. I wiped at the tears and stared wide eyed.

People stood close together, some standing on the street, most huddling by shop doorway. Soldiers in their mandatory British uniforms stood lined up, yelling and pointing their rifles at different shivering colonists. My eyes darted around until they finally landed on a small group of people encircling a screaming woman, her body flung over a man who lay unmoving in the street.

The woman was Miss Jamie.

"_Sam_!" Miss Jamie screamed down at the bloody body next to her. "_Sam_, _Sam_! Open your eyes _Sam_! _Samuel Maverick_!"

I paused in awe before walking closer. I nudged determinedly through the crowd and stopped in front of Miss Jamie and Samuel. I stared down at him, face numb.

Along with Miss Jamie, Samuel had grown too. His hair had darkened to a deep brown tint and his face was sprouting small hairs. His face was stronger and his arms were bigger. His hands, now large and calloused, gripped at his middle, blood flowing out from under them.

I gasped and felt slick tears cascade down my cheeks. I felt an invisible weight press down on my head, making me go to my knees. I wrapped my arms around Miss Jamie's shoulders and buried my face into her back. I felt her loud cries ripple down the back of her neck and against my skin. I sobbed silently with her, each breath I took leaving me to gasp for another. I felt a hand grip my shoulder and lips kiss the back of my head. I glanced over and saw Alfred kneeing behind me.

"A-Al…" I turned away from Miss Jamie and collided with Alfred's chest.

Alfred hugged me tightly and kept my face close to him. I could feel his heartbeat racing, the sound beating in my ear.

Everyone went quiet as a booming voice shot through the air, followed by stomping feet. "Where the hell is that doctor!"

I looked up to see Arthur bustling through the crowd, elbowing people that got in front of him. His face was contorted with rage and anxiety. His brow was glistening with sweat and the collar of his shirt was equally damp. He looked down at Samuel then at me. His eyes traveled across my face before landing on Al's. He took a step closer and Alfred's head turned upwards.

"You…" Alfred muttered then stood up. He loomed over to Arthur and stared down at him. Arthur's eyes were wide. He edged his hand closer to Al's shoulder, but Alfred swung back his arm. I gasped sharply as the Alfred's fist collided with Arthur's lip. He groaned and fell backwards to the ground.

"_You son of a bitch_!" Alfred screamed down at him. He wrenched his arm back and smashed his fist into the side of Arthur's jaw.

Arthur fell onto his back and Alfred leaped on top of him. He tightened his fist around Arthur's collar then began to throw punch after punch down across his face. "_You did this! You killed them!_" Alfred's cried hysterically.

I stared in horror as Arthur's face soon blistered open in scares and bruises. Alfred's hits became harder and his face gleamed in the enormous tears that rolled down from his eyes. Miss Jamie looked up from Samuel and cried harder. "Oh, stop it! Stop it! Why are you two fighting!"

Alfred pulled back his arm once more but was stopped by Davidson. "That's enough Mister Alfred," Davidson said roughly, wrapping one strong arm around his Alfred's waist and yanking him off the other. They backed away, Alfred still throwing his fists at the air in a flurry, and Arthur finally sitting up. He stared down at his hand he held under his chin then coughed in it, a mixture of blood and saliva falling from his mouth. He looked up at Alfred with shocked eyes.

Alfred broke away from Davidson and pointed at Arthur. "_You stay away from me…I hate you—I hate you!_" he said. Everyone watched as Alfred turned and knelt back down beside me. Arthur kept seated on the ground, his eyes wide and glazed.

I stared at Arthur for a moment longer before returning my attention to Samuel. Blood still spread from his stomach, the nauseating red color slowly covering the section of the street he laid on. I realized that my nightmare was no longer a nightmare. All of it was real

Miss Jamie let out a painful squeal as Samuels hand lightly closed around hers. His eyes opened a slit then fell shut, a deathly hiss of breath exhaling from his lips. Everyone stared at him with a mixture of hope and hopelessness. I doubt anyone even notice Arthur, who stood up slowly from the ground then turned and walked off through the crowd, face still pale eyes still blank.

—

The doctors finally came. They practically had to wrench Miss Jamie off of Samuel and even at that they still couldn't keep her from following them. They couldn't keep any of us back.

Davidson, Alfred and I all joined in the small store room where the doctors took Samuel. They placed him on a table and ripped open his shirt, reviling to the world the large hole in the middle of his stomach. They draped a scolding hot rag over his wound to clean it then allowed an older man to start digging for the bullet. I felt like I was going to faint when the man pulled out the round piece of metal out, a line of sticky blood still attached to it. They sewed up the wound then told us to wait with him, just in case he wakes up during the night. Davidson set up chairs around the room for us to sit in though Miss Jamie wouldn't stop standing next to the table. I ended up crying myself to sleep on Alfred's lap.

I woke up shortly after a scream echoed through the room. My eyes opened wide and I looked out in front of me. Miss Jamie was crying severely and pounding on the floor. She flung her messy hair about and screamed some more till Alfred finally picked her up. He struggled to keep her hands from scratching at his face as she demanded to be let down.

I looked over at Samuel and instantly knew what had happened—Samuel had died.

His face was a strange color of white and his chest looked unnaturally flat. The morning light that crept through the windows made his skin look dull and pasty. Sweat gleamed up his scalp making his hair limp. His head was turned towards me. His lips were parted and his eyes softly closed. It was strange to look at him but I couldn't stop. He looked like he was sleeping, like if I went over I could wake him up.

Alfred told Davidson to take me back home and I was soon walking out of the room with him. Davidson moved us through the streets of the town, now empty and still, and we were up the pathway before I knew it. When we opened the door to the house, Miss Mary sped around the corner.

"Oh, Lord…what has happened?" she asked with a tone of apprehension. Davidson didn't need to say anything for the message to come across.

I went and sat on the bottom step of the stairway as Miss Mary began to cry into Davidson's arms. I pulled my knees up to my chest and curled up in a ball. My head was pounding and my skin felt dry. The house felt like it was going the collapse around me. The day had gone by so fast. So much had happened, but it all still felt like a dream.

About five days later, the five people of the incident were buried: Crispus Attucks, Mr. Samuel Gray, Mr. James Caldwell, Patrick Carr, and our beloved Samuel Maverick.

Miss Jamie, Miss Mary, Davidson, Alfred and I were the last to leave the service. Miss Jamie raised her fingers to her lips and placed them back to the ground multiple times, figuratively kissing the face she would never see again. Alfred held my hand with an iron grip. I looked up at him and noticed he was staring of to the side, his eyes dangerously dark. I looked over the same way and spotted Arthur. He was far off leaning against the side of a post, dressed in black, face molded into a blank gaze.

They never stopped looking at each other. The sound a something snapping reverberated against the air. At that moment, everything between the two vanished.

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><p><em>The Boston Massacre. <em>Reviews are welcome~


	9. Chapter 9

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

**May 10, 1773~**

I woke up to Miss Mary's face.

Sunlight drifted through the window of my room and streamed across the wrinkles of my sheets forming a sea of cloth waves. I blinked and rubbed a limp hand over my drooping eyes. "Miss Mary…? What's the matter…?"

The woman smiled at my scratchy voice. "Oh, nothing Mister Matthew. I just came up here to wake you up for tea time," she said, brushing a straggling strand of hair out from her eyes. "Mister Kirkland wants everyone up and going."

I watched as she stood up straight from my bed and walk across the room. She picked up books from the floor and arranged papers that buried my desk, her nimble old fingers cleaning my room within mere movements. I rubbed at my eyes and finally rolled out of bed. I stood on shaky legs before walking over to Miss Mary. It was strange for me to find that I was now as tall as her or she was now as tall as I. With her ageing life, Miss Mary was falling behind in many ways—weather it was strength, energy or height.

"Here," I said while taking a box full of old toys from her grasp. "I'll get the rest."

She gave me a quick but tired smile. "Oh, don't spend too much time up here; your tea will get cold." She patted the side of my arm and trudged out of the room, coughing roughly into the hallway.

No one blamed the wariness that ran through the house. After Samuel's death, after all those men's deaths, Miss Jamie was caught by depression. Only about a year ago did she finally stop crying at nights, but even with that the spark in her eyes never came back. For the rest of the house, I can't really say. I'm still the same, a growing soul in a boy's body. White hair dominates Davidson's head, now no longer the strong young worker he once was. I'm not going to start on the subject with Alfred and Arthur—I believe everyone knows that story….

I began to undress from my night clothes and slip into my day clothes. My mind drifted off to some far corner of thought and I ended up sitting on my bed, shoes in hand, for another ten minutes. When I did get up I hurried down the stairs in a most clumsy way. I managed not to slip down the last step and jogged to the doorway of the sitting room. Stopping to catch my breath I peered in.

Arthur sat in his normal seat, legs crossed, one foot lightly resting on the small table in front of him. He had a face of stone. His eyes looked like they could cut right through you. Through it all you could see he was extremely tired, so tired that his hands shook slightly. I felt no pity for him, though. He deserved to feel the weight of sleepless nights like everyone else has.

Alfred sat across from him, head down looking at the hands in his lap. He wasn't the brother I grew up with. This person's face was etched with hatred and rage and confusion—this person's eyes were cloudy and dark.

The aura of the room made my spine tingle. I took a breath through my nose and straitened. Walking through that doorway became one of the greatest fears in my mind. I didn't want to be around any of them. However much I loved them, I could not get past the feeling a dread they emitted.

"Good morning," I said breathlessly when I took my first step into the room.

Both Arthur and Alfred's head shot up. Alfred was the first to put on his smiling mask. "Good morning to you too, Mattie," he said. He stood up from his seat and walked over to me. He grabbed my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. He moved aside and I caught a glance from Arthur. "Good morning, Arthur."

He merely nodded and said nothing.

Alfred walked me to the open seats and sat us down, Alfred to my right Arthur across.

We would still be sitting in silence if Miss Mary hadn't of come in. "Oh, sorry for the wait," she said. She slowly placed the tray of tea and cups on the small table. She handed us each a cup, rolling her eyes secretively when Arthur was the only one not to say thank you. As she poured my cup, I watch Alfred stare emotionlessly over at Arthur. How dark his eyes were.

When she came to Alfred's cup he told her to stop halfway. "That's enough, thank you." This seemed to catch Arthur's attention, but he remained silent.

Once everyone had a steaming cup in front of them, Miss Mary left to the kitchen, leaving us again in silence. Arthur immediately downed his cup like it was a shot of alcohol. I sipped at mine uninterested while Alfred stared down at his.

Arthur looked at him over the rim of his cup before speaking in a ruff voice, "Have you acquired a taste for observing your tea instead of drinking it?"

Alfred shot a look at the other before smiling. "Lost my taste for it all together really."

He stood up, cup in hand, and walked to the room's window. He gazed out into the lawn and sighed. Raising his cup and pouring all its tea into a flowerpot on the sill he said casually, "Lovely out today, don't you think?"

The steam could be seen rising off Arthur face. I stared, shocked, as Alfred came back and sat down. He stared at me then at Arthur, just waiting for something to happen. A vein came to Arthur's forehead as he scowled. His reaction was only half of what I was expecting. "What a childish thing to do," he said slowly, the fury not yet in his voice.

Alfred smirked. "Always a child in your eyes, aren't I?"

"Yes, but a more mature one," Arthur retorted. He went back to his cup. "Now drink your tea and stop acting foolish."

Alfred blinked silently for a moment before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "No."

Arthur gave a retched glare. "Drink."

Alfred shook his head. "No."

I jumped as Arthur shot up from his seat. He grabbed the teapot and Alfred empty cup and put the two together. The cup filled to the brim then he slammed both dishes back on the table. He pointed to the cup, still standing, "_Drink it_."

Alfred looked from the cup to Arthur and leaned forward. He stared up at the other in front of him. "_No_."

And with that, the morning was lost. I screamed, startled, as Arthur threw his arm and knocked every dish off the table. Alfred vaulted up.

The yelling began.

I left to the corner of the room. My shoulders were up straight and my heart was beating out of my chest. I watched with awe-stricken eyes as Arthur shouted and pointed and Alfred the same. They got closer to each other, their hands shaking terribly as if they were trying not to strangle one another. In a moment, some tightening grip on Arthur's mind squeezed and his hand struck Alfred's cheek. It was such a surprise to all in the room that the fight ceased long enough for Miss Jamie's cries to be heard.

"Oh Lord, boys!" The three of us looked to the doorway. Miss Jamie's tired eyes were wide and tear filled. Her hands curled in and out around the hem of her dress as she cried. God knows how hard it is for her to get out of bed in the mornings, and for her to actually get about the house easily only to be greeted by a roaring brawl must be hell on her nerves. She dashed back to the stairs and ran for her room before anyone could speak.

Alfred stood with his palm to his cheek; Arthur stood quiet. He wiped at his brow then stormed out of the room. I flinched as I heard the front door slam shut. That left Alfred and I. I heard a clink of glass and looked to see Alfred squatted near the ground picking up all the broken dishes. "Al…I can get those," I said quietly while walking over.

He shook his head and waved his hand. "Go—Go check…" his voice cracked and his lips were tight. He pointed to the staircase and nodded then said nothing.

I rubbed a sleeve over my eyes as unnoticed tears tickled my face. I whispered an O.K and left.

The upstairs were dark. When I turned the corner for Miss Jaime's room I collided with Miss Mary. "Oh, Mister Matthew…" she looked over my face and sighed. "Oh Mister Matthew, she's not all that well at the moment."

"That's alright," I said. "I just…want to speak to her."

Miss Mary nodded and sniffed. "Alright dear."

She walked on by and I stepped to the door. I didn't knock because why would you? All privacy is invalid in this situation. "Miss Jamie?"

I wasn't expecting what was behind the door. Miss Jamie sat in her vanity chair with her back slumped, her hand rubbing her temples. At the sound of my voice she looked up. "Yes?"

She wasn't crying like I thought she would be. "I came to check on you."

Miss Jaime pointed to the end of her bed for me to sit down. I did. As I leaned forward slightly I saw a thin piece of paper with a drawing on it: the drawing was of Samuel.

"He's so handsome," Miss Jamie said after seeing me looking at the paper. I nodded sadly. She sat silently for a moment before saying in a shaky voice, "He was the love of my life."

The tears came then; it was only a matter of time. "He was so wonderful. He—he told me he loved me, all the time," she said, voice rising in volume. Even if she was crying tears of pain a smile lit her face. "He told me he was going to marry me when we got a little older. He told me—he told me that we were going to go to Europe and start a family. I was going to be a seamstress and he was going to sail his own boat."

Suddenly her small smile fell and she collapsed into hysterical sobs. "I can't do it anymore, Mister Matthew! I can't do it!" She waved her hands at the closed bedroom door. "All the fighting and—and…"

She never finished speaking. She cried for the rest of the morning, I cried too. I hugged her and told her it was okay.

She didn't believe me.

When the clock chimed one more than two, she stopped. The picture in her lap, her beloved face, was dotted with tears. Her wrists had red lines on them from the pressure of keeping them bent to her face. I let kiss fall on her head and she quietly told me, "I have to get out of here, Matthew."

—

About a week later, Miss Jamie left on a ship to France.

Everyone except Arthur stood on the docks and wished her goodbye. She wore her prettiest dress—a white draping cloth that wrapped around her perfectly—and her blonde hair was tied up in a bow. She wasn't the young vivacious girl she once was. She looked older, if not to say _old_.

She hugged her mother quickly, for if she lingered Miss Mary would not let her go. I said my farewell's and then went to comfort Miss Mary. Her dear friend Bernadette came and cried through her handkerchief, she even brought a case with a new needle and thread in it as a goodbye gift. Alfred hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead, sadness in his eyes. Davidson, though, gave the hardest goodbye. No hugs, no kisses, he just reached out and brushed her bangs. "Ya go do good, Miss Jamie."

After that, all of us watched her step onto the ship. Once she was gone, she didn't look back.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I turned in my bed and stared at the ceiling. I decided that my mind was shot. So much had happened in only the time of a week: I lost a family member who couldn't stand the turmoil that brewed in the house; I am still as young as the day I came while everyone else looks near death, and, from it all, I'm still waking up in the mornings. It confused me that I could manage that.

While I laid in silence I thought of Alfred and the others and myself, but most of all, Miss Jamie. I wondered how she would fit in over _there_—France, Europe, outside this suffocating house. I started to remember my life in France. It was funny, all memories that were supposed to have _him_ in it didn't. I had scratched him out. He was no longer in my life so I had no reason to remember him. I felt a pang of longing for those times back, but not because of him. I missed the way the air smelled there and how the sky was slightly bluer. I missed the people, the langue, the culture, the sense of bliss that floats through the actions and movements of those around.

I love Boston, I really do, but the time to stand and walk away was getting closer every year. I wanted out, out of this house, out of these thoughts that clouded my mind, out of this weak little boy's skin. I rolled on my side and shut my eyes. _You're right Miss Jamie_, I thought. _I have to get out of here_.

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><p>Hissy fits and drama~ thank you for reading and leave your comments :)<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Hetalia Axis Powers does _**NOT**_ belong to me. All rights reserved.

December 16, 1773~

I've had my bag ready for about three weeks. I would stare at it, watching it sit in the corner. I had fights inside my head about what I should. Yes, go. No, don't go—I felt like a mad person. I made lists of pros and cons and flipped a coin over and over again. I figured that the only things keeping me here were Alfred and Miss Mary and Davidson.

I actually decided to not go but then Arthur and Alfred had a fall out all over the dining room. That was yesterday, today, or tonight as it is, I have no hesitation about my choice.

A man that worked by the docks told me that he could set up a small ship for me and some other men to sail to France in a day. I thanked him and all was set from there. He didn't have a problem for a child leaving for Europe unaccompanied but when I ask if we could depart at night he raised a brow.

"I'm very sensitive to the sun," I had said, spur of the moment. "Can't be in it."

The man just shrugged and took my money.

I began to get dressed in all the warmest clothes I owned—layers and layers of thick shirts and at least two pairs of pants. I pulled out Alfred's large snow boots that I had snuck from his room from under my bed. I brushed them off and slid them on. With the stacks of socks I had put on my foot fit perfectly in the shoes. I was taking them with me so I could pretend that Alfred was with me. I wished so deeply that he could take him, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. Alfred was stronger than me and would never run away.

I picked up my bag and flung it over my shoulder. I didn't know where I was going to go when I reached France, but I would think of something, anything other than living with _him _again.

Stepping out into the dark hallway I went heel-to-toe over to the stairs. I slowly crept by Alfred's room and made it to the top step. I shot a glance over at Arthur's closed door. _He's probably not even in there_, I thought. _Off getting drunk in his office more like it._ I snorted at the thought and started down the stairs.

Moonlight illuminated the bottom story. The dining room, sitting room and front room all danced in blue lights. I stood motionless in the middle of the front room for a moment, just looking. I knew I would miss everything, or _most_ things, but I pushed those thoughts back. Once I was in France I could mourn the house, but not till then.

With a deep breath I walked out the front door.

It was cold but only my bare face could feel any of it. I trudged down the pathway slowly but steadily. I could feel the warmth from the house slowly fading as I came to the edge of the town. Every house and building was blocked out in the shadows of the night leaving perfect cover for my secret trip. As I came closer to the docks, the soft sound of the sea graced my ears. My fingers twitched in anticipation. I was really doing this and I was really getting away with it. I turned past the last building separating the docks and stopped.

Half of the ships that were normally strung all along the sides of the docks were all pushed to one side. They swayed next to each other, so close that their ropes swung over each other. I spotted my ship stuck in the middle of two foul smelling fishing boats. I began to look for the other colonists who would be joining me when I saw the cause for the tight arrangements.

Two giant ships were sitting in the middle of the harbor. They rocked and swayed and the moon lit up their gold trimmings. I stared in awe at the massive things till I saw their names: _E.I.C_—East India Company.

I cringed. British ships.

I ducked past them and down the docks railing. The moon shone on the ships mast and sails. They looked monstrous. Only a day ago did they sail in, full with boxes and bags, all containing tea; retched, retched tea. For some reason that was beyond my understanding, the colonists needed their tea and went through extreme precautions to get it to the harbor safely, even if it means paying for the extra cost of a fine ship.

I found my ship—stuck helplessly between to foul smelling fishing boats. I wasn't expecting any king of large ship but one that didn't look like it was going to snap into once out at sea. I looked around for any sign of the other men that would be joining me but in vain. I pondered the idea of jumping in and waiting though if I sat down I feared of falling asleep. I stood dumbly at the edge of the docks. I didn't know what I was doing, but that wasn't going to stop me.

Throwing my bag first I carefully started up the very short ladder. I was on the second to last step when a noise caused me to stop. My head turned quickly, my heart beating wildly for some reason.

Shadows greeted me. The sounds of footsteps and hushed voice came from the sides of the walkway. I hung on to the ladder so tightly that my knuckles turned white. My mouth opened to ask who was there but no sounds came. There I stayed, unmoving, chest pressed up close to the wood steps, waiting for whatever evil things that lurked in the dark to sprint out and grab me.

A clatter caused me to whip my head to the left. A man stood holding his shin, presumably caressing it after slamming into the pile of boxes near him. He hissed through his teeth as he rubbed his leg. Another man came from the dark and slapped the other. "_Hush up, Cain!"_

The man, Cain, leg down his leg and shot the other a glare. "You."

"Both a'ya," said another as he stepped from the alleys of the buildings.

One by one, fourteen or so men came into the section of the docks. Some had bags strapped over their shoulders and others held feather headdresses atop their heads. I quietly watched as some pulled out hammers and other tools from their bags while some drew two lines of red paint on their cheeks. They spoke in mere whispers. When one got to loud, one would _shhh_ him, and the same for him. They stayed like this until one last figure emerged from the buildings. Yellow hair flashed in the moonlight:

"Quiet and listen. We got to do this thing quick, right?"

My blood froze. The man was Alfred.

"Whose going up first?" one man asked.

"Me." Alfred brushed by all the men and walked to the side of one of the _E.I.C_ ships. He looked up at it before tightening his legs and springing into the air. His hands just grabbed the sides of the railing. He grunted and for a second he dangled. He flung a leg up high and his heel caught the ship. All the men watched as his body finally disappeared over the ships side. He popped up with a rope in his hands that he threw down to the nearest man. "Quick now."

As the men started shimmying up the rope, I jumped down from the ladder. I slowly walked over to the ship next to the one they were climbing and hid behind its bow. My breath came out as puffs of heat that traveled across my freezing cheeks. What was happening?

Cain scrambled up the rope only to immediately jump back down. "Al wants us to take the other," he told the men still standing on the docks. They moved to the other ship and Cain mimicked the same movements Alfred did, only less gracefully.

My eyes moved to the ship Alfred was on. I looked for him past all the other moving shadows. When he popped into view I saw he was carrying two heavy boxes, both with the stamp of the company's design.

All the men moved aside from him as he came to the side of the ship. With powerful arms he raised both the boxes over his head. He held: before I knew it, Alfred threw the boxes into the dark sea below.

"Woo—" Cain shouted from the other ship as he watched the boxes fall. He pulled back his leg and kicked off a box himself. And suddenly, the waves were swamped with tea.

Many of them laughed as they heaved box after box down to the waters. Alfred, incredibly impressive, managed to pick four boxes up at once. As they ran about the ship, some made howling calls, their mouths forming an 'O's and patting them. They threw the ropes that hung around and hit at the sails. Cain shouted as he danced around: "Blow, blow, blow ye winds, blow!" Two men that jumped down to the docks began taking turns smashing the planks of the ship with rods and hammers.

I stared in complete awe as the dark blue water slowly turned brown. A spread of tea was reaching out through the harbor. _What a sight_, I thought and that's when I slipped.

I fell flat on my stomach as my feet came out from under me. I smashed my chin against the wooden boards with an awful groan. It seemed all movement and sound stopped. All eyes landed on me as I struggled to get up. I froze as I heard the cock of a gun.

Looking up slowly I saw Alfred, right next to him a man holding a long rifle. They stared at me for a moment before Alfred twisted up his face in a frown. "Mattie?"

At the recognition in Alfred's voice the men began to move around again, this time quieter. I waited till the man dropped his rifle to move. I walked to the ship and stared up at Al who came to the side. He stared down at me. "What are you doing here, Matthew?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I said after a moment.

Alfred snorted. "Well I'm sure you're not taking a midnight stroll," he paused to help a struggling man next to him push over another box, "and I'm sure _Arthur_ didn't let you out so…"

I was taken aback by the aggressiveness in his voice. "I was...I was…" I stopped to watch the tea in the water. "What are you doing, Al?"

Alfred gave me a long stare before leaping off the side of the ship. He landed with a firm _thump _that jostled me up the spine. He straightened up and his face was covered by the shadowed sky. He looked so big at that moment. "I'm making a statement—we're making a statement." He turned to the ships and called, "Are we drinking this filthy shit anymore, boys?" An echoing "Hell no!" came from all bodies. Alfred turned around with a cold smile. "We won't drink it," he pointed to the sleeping town, "they won't drink it. We stay on a schedule set by the Brits, but not anymore."

He leaned down and picked up a piece of broken wood. "No more tea time, no more soldiers, no more taxes," with each no, he snapped the wood in half, "no more Parliament, no more bloody King George!" He jumped back and threw the small bits of wood far out into the ocean with a yell.

The men around him joined in the yell. The Cain fellow jumped down and ran over, placing a headdress on Al's head. The others jumped down too, after making sure all boxes were floating off in the waves. They had come to cause havoc and they had; now it was time to sneak back home. Alfred turned to me. "Get back to the house, Matthew. I'll be coming." I took a step back when he added, "And Matthew, don't go telling. This didn't happen…you weren't here."

Something in his eyes made my skin crawl. Without saying a word I turned and went back to my ship. I climbed the ladder in a daze and grabbed my bag. I would never get to use it.

—

I was already awake when morning came. I never went to sleep. I listened to the frantic stomping of feet as Arthur finally woke and finally found out what had happened. I decided not to leave my room. I didn't want to get in the middle of things.

I got up from my bed and stared out the window. I could see out to the docks and I could see the enormous crowd that had gathered there. The sea looked tinted and brown. It was actually quite a lot fun, watching as men pulled out boxes and yelled and ran about. It wasn't hard to spot Arthur out of the chaos—standing right in the middle of the boardwalk, pointing at the stained waves in fury. Dear God, he was a mess.

My door opened with a creak. I jumped and turned. Alfred stood there, one hand on the doorknob one hand holding himself up as he leaned on the doorway. "Hey, Mattie."

I nodded over to him awkwardly. "Hey, ah, Al…"

Alfred smiled and tapped his fingers on the door. He looked around my room, and sighed. He seemed so blissful. "Well, let's get some breakfast." He stuck out his hand and waited for me to come.

I looked at him tentatively. "Yeah…" I walked over and took his hand. I stared up at his face. Even if when he smiled, his eyes still burned. "Oh, Al…" I whispered as we made our way down stairs.

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><p>Is this chapter 10 already? Whoah... Thank you all for reading! Please review :)<p> 


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